Time Immemorial
by soralia
Summary: Two years of peace have passed since the Fate Wars, but now a new danger lurks unseen on the horizon, threatening not only Asturia, but all of Gaea.
1. Prologue

This fic has been in the works for years and I'm finally getting around to publishing it. It will eventually be a three part fic with multiple chapters in each section. I hope you can bear with me. When finished, it should make for a very long read.

I really hope you enjoy it! -sora

* * *

It is a defining principle of humanity. Human beings are flawed. There cannot be a perfect world because it goes against the first law of humanity. Humans cannot understand that the very concept of perfection is also flawed. They are blinded by ambition, by greed, even by a desire to do good, but in the end mankind is fated to destroy the very perfection it seeks.

This is chaos.

Humans are chaotic beings, unable to achieve the paradise in which the Ryujinbito dwelled since time immemorial. It was that human chaos that cast them from their paradise, wiping their perfection from the face of Earth, leaving it only as an unattainable ideal. Humanity is forced to strive for what was lost but can never be reborn. They are forced to dwell in a realm of chaos and forced to bring about chaos in their quest for perfection.

Only the Ryujinbito can have any hope of attaining paradise. It cannot be achieved by a half breed, tainted by human chaos. Only the purest of the old blood could ever hope to guide fate. That was my first mistake, trusting the flawed blood of the half breeds. Paradise demands a more perfect vessel.


	2. Part 1 Prologue

_Storm clouds._

_Strange._

_The sky had been clear only moments before. Now it was dark, the clouds rolling in like a sea of obsidian, leaving the park drowning in shadow._

_The wind comes._

_Leaves flutter furiously past, making a percussion of tiny pinpricks along the stone path. Then they catch the wind, rushing into the air, making a living tapestry of reds and yellows. Swirling freely yet avoiding the pair. A man and a woman. _

_Two figures. Solitary. Staring at one another, separated by the rush of leaves._

_Folds of black silk cloth mingling with red and gold. He offers a hand, pale and porcelain, white flesh a startling contrast to black silk. Silk and porcelain mixing to create the form of a perfect, beautiful living doll that any little girl would cherish._

_She hesitates. He is unearthly. Unfamiliar. He is beautiful._

_She takes his hand. _


	3. Part 1 Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Summers in Palas were always of the pleasant sort. The constant breeze that washed in from the sea carried just enough moisture to maintain a moderate temperature without the heavy dampness that kept so many Asturians inside in winter. Still, the cooling air of late afternoon failed to make swordsmanship training any less strenuous.

The Knights of Caeli demanded a certain standard of performance and while they had never in a vast history stretching out over centuries stripped a man of his knighthood, they made it very clear that it was not an impossibility. It was especially likely for the youngest child of the Trevelian family. True, the Trevelian dynasty had been among the highest ranking Asturian nobles for years, but power was always fickle and such things depended greatly on the accomplishments of the next generation.

Such pressure was especially great for Baedan, the youngest of five children and the only son. He had been sent away at a young age to train with one of the greatest swordsmen on Gaea only to return prematurely at the outbreak of the war with Zaibach. He had been waylaid in the Duchy of Freid and injured during the collapse of the city, leaving the boy's memory in shambles. Among the patches of memory remained much of his sword training along with a basic knowledge of Gaea's geography and culture, but any and all recollection of faces or names had been completely wiped away.

Despite such setback, the boy had gone on to excel in his swordsmanship, making fast progress under the tutelage of the Knights of Caeli. His progress was so phenomenal, in fact, that he was offered a position among their ranks a year after his return to Asturia. Now at the age of seventeen, he remained the youngest of their ranks and the subject of constant criticism from a number of his peers. Jealous aristocrats claimed his parents had bought his position while others claimed he had fallen into favor with some of the older knights. Very few seemed to attribute his success to an unrivaled talent with a sword and those did so only with the greatest reluctance. He had never shown such promise as a child.

On that afternoon, Baedan had managed to work himself into a sweat quite earlier than was his usual, but time was limited. He had been officially excused from sword practice that morning due to the evening's festivities, but Baedan had never been the type to neglect his work. Of course, he would have to make haste to his room in a few minutes to clean up and dress for the banquet. He hated banquets, but they were a necessity when you were a representative of the country. The Knights of Caeli were Asturia's best and thus they were forced to make appearances at every banquet, every diplomatic function, and every other event of importance to the royal family.

He had only just sheathed his sword and was wiping the sweat from his face with the sleeve of an old tunic when the sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention to the doorway. He'd hoped the roof would serve to keep his work private, but once more he had no such luck. Finding privacy in the palace was as impossible as sitting straight-faced through sword lessons. Matters were only made worse when the unexpected and unwelcome visitor stepped into the fading light of oncoming evening.

"Trevelian, are you still not dressed?" Allen Schezar. Of all the men to bother him now it had to be the picture perfect Allen Schezar. Baedan had never been able to explain it, but the simple presence of that man, golden knight of unquestionable skill and bravery, provoked a slight queasiness in his stomach. The man quite literally made his skin crawl. Still, Baedan had a talent for dealing with the other knight and none of his distaste showed, even for a moment.

"Forgive me, Allen-san. I lost track of time. I'll be ready." He gathered up his discarded shirt, strapped his sheath to his side, and stepped past the other knight, not bothering to offer another word. He had nearly reached the far door that would admit him to the back hallways when there came another set of intruding footsteps. These, however, were not the heavy footfalls of a knight, but the soft, delicate echo of a pair of lady's dress shoes.

"Here you are, onii-sama. They're calling for your downstairs." Baedan did not need to turn to know just who this girl was. He had always felt nervous in the presence of Celena Schezar. It wasn't the same sick churning her brother caused, but more like the delicate tickle of butterflies. Even catching her eye for an instant was enough to send him into a nervous sweat.

Perhaps it was out of a pure desire to torture himself, but the young knight cast a glance over his shoulder.

He'd been right! She was looking at him! It seemed for every effort made on his part to avoid the girl, she made twice the effort to find him. And always, she gazed at him with such a quiet, knowing look. They had barely exchanged five words and yet she gazed at him as if they'd known each other all their lives.

Such a look demanded an answer, as it always did. And such a look was always answered only by the swift retreat of Baedan's boots. That afternoon was no exception.

However, as he pushed the door closed behind him, he thought he heard the faint echo of Celena's musical laughter.

* * *

In the two years following the conflict with the Zaibach Empire, Gaia entered into a period of renewal. Countries destroyed by the war were rebuilt. New pacts between nations were forged, making way for new alliances in both the military and domestic domains. New trade routes were created and economies bloomed. The only country excluded from all of this enlightened progress was the ruined remnants of Zaibach.

The allied nations refused to accept any responsibility for the ruins of their enemies and for the most part the struggling citizens were ignored by the rest of the world, left to fend for themselves and rise up from the ruins of a collapsing government. Dornkirk's death had left them with no leader and a broken chain of command consisting mostly of a dead Strategos, a number of dead Madoushi, three dead generals, and a wealth of bitter nobles.

It was the military families that stepped up first, demanding their power through show of wealth and force. They formed a council, blanketing the country with their hard and dominating rule, leaving little room for the country to right itself. Their major concern was not to rebuild homes or economies, but to train fresh soldiers. Any spare money was put into the development and construction of new weaponry leaving hundreds of citizens to starve.

The military tribunal remained in power for nearly half a year before the country fell into civil war. While the chief Madoushi had been killed during the war, they had left behind a number of promising students studying in the sorcerers' tower. These men were trained not only in the art of science, but in the art of diplomacy and economy. Once an exclusive facility open only to men handpicked by the Madoushi themselves, the tower opened its doors to the public only a month after the tragedy. Scientific study became the alternative to military training and any man who hoped to avoid serving in the army fled to the tower. Within six months the Madoushi boasted numbers rivaling that of the military with a council of its own set in opposition of the militarists.

The first Zaibach Civil War lasted nearly a full year, pitting the strength of the military against the cunning of the Madoushi. Having lost the intellectual support of the research department, the military was forced to look to outside sources for weaponry that could somehow compete with the vast technological advances pouring out of the tower by the day. This opened up chances for the more opportunistic nations to stimulate their own economies by selling weaponry to Zaibach, sometimes to both sides. Basram was the first to take advantage, but rival nations followed suit almost overnight. It was often speculated that without such outside aid, the war might have ended in two months, but due to the continued supply of weaponry, the militarists were able to hold out so long as their money did.

Still, money alone could not compensate for the complicated devices of the Madoushi. The Madoushi leaders, now calling themselves the Diet in order to give some form of legitimacy to their rule, battled the militarists to a standstill, finally offering them a settlement for peace. This peace agreement, however, consisted of a wealth of strict rules to limit the power of the aristocracy, diminishing the powerful military patriarchs to little more than well-dressed figureheads, the last remnants of a dying way of life for Zaibach. Madoushi leaders believed that there was no room for old fashioned chivalrous combat in a world of science. The future of warfare lay in the bowels of the tower, locked away within the minds of their students.

At the end of the civil war, the Diet was left with a country even more in shambles than it had been a year ago. Having spent more funds than truly necessary on war, Zaibach was left with little alternative than to seek outside aid. However, instead of turning to the greedy nations who had fed funds into the conflict, the Diet instead chose to plead its case to Asturia and its allies. Asturia, being the most prosperous nation on Gaia, allowed Zaibach to present its case for aid.

A conference was scheduled during which Asturia and her allies would evaluate the request from Zaibach and determine in what way they would aid the development of the country. Representatives were called from the allied countries and invited first to a grand banquet, as was the pompous style of the Asturian court. A banquet which played host to the country's nobility along with visiting dignitaries and three members of Zaibach's Diet. The morning after, Zaibach would present its case before the representatives.


	4. Part 1 Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews!

I don't like to give things away, but since the question was asked, there will be no Hitomi in this fic. I've never been a fan of the whole Hitomi returns to Gaea idea. (Not that I don't like Hitomi.) However, I plan to eventually include every character from the anime, except of course, those that have died, plus a few new characters. It might take longer for some to show up than others, though. Sorry Merle fans, but she won't be around until Part 2.

So here's Chapter 2. It's a bit short but there's more to come very soon.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"But, onii-sama! Why can't I go?"

"Because I forbid it. I do not want you there."

Gaddes leaned back in the red velvet armchair he'd taken refuge in, trying to make himself seem smaller. He had long since become used to being the awkward presence in the middle of one of the Schezar siblings' infamous arguments, but it still didn't make the situation any more pleasant. Mostly this was because more often than not, he tended to agree with Celena, leaving him torn between supporting the girl or backing up his boss. Not at all a good situation to be in.

This evening, the argument was over Celena's desire to attend that evening's banquet. She had been anticipating the event for some weeks now and had spent considerable time in the marketplace in search of just the perfect thing to wear. It was an oddity in itself that she worried so much over her attire. In fact, Gaddes had never seen her fuss over a dress or how to fix her hair when there were better things to fuss over… such as her brother's overprotective streak.

And fuss she did…

"That's not a good reason, and you know it! I want to know why you don't want me to be there!" She had already planted herself firmly between Allen and the door and now the girl advanced a few steps, her posture voicing a threat that she did not even know was there. "Everyone will be there! Why should I have to sit at home like an old maid? Answer me, onii-sama!"

Gaddes refused to look, but he could almost picture the expression on the knight's face. Allen always hated being stern with Celena. He was probably grinding his teeth and clenching his fists, looking too much like a child about to throw his own temper tantrum. "I simply do not want you thrown in the middle of all those foreigners."

Of course, it wasn't just any foreigners Allen was worried about, but three black robed individuals in particular.

"All those foreigners! You're lying again, I can tell!" The girl's powers of observation were uncanny at times. Gaddes had yet to get away with telling her a lie. In fact, he'd stopped trying all together.

That fact made things doubly troublesome when Celena rounded on him. "Don't you think he's being ridiculous, Gaddes! Tell him!"

Now trapped under the furious gaze of both siblings, Gaddes felt very much as if he were held at knife point. Truthfully, he would have felt more comfortable at knife point. "Ah… well… Maybe she's right, Allen." He cut himself off quickly just in case Allen managed to kill him with that glare.

Of course, Celena took full advantage of her reluctant supporter. "See, he said I'm right! You're being too overprotective again."

This time, Gaddes was quick to jump in, hoping to prevent one of the rare explosions of Allen's temper. "I'll keep an eye on her. We all will. You won't have to worry about a thing. And Celena will behave herself, won't you Celena?"

The girl flashed them both a perfectly angelic smile accompanied by a pair of large, somehow innocent doe eyes. Any man who believed she was innocent was in for a shock, but even knowing for a fact that she would likely get into trouble, Gaddes was inclined to believer her as she cooed her reassurances. "Yes, I'll be a perfect lady, just like onii-sama always says." She stepped forward, smoothing a few wrinkles from Allen's dress shirt. "I'll be good as gold. I promise."

* * *

Since the end of the Zaibach war, Asturia had stepped into a position of leadership amongst its allies. Despite the damage done to the city, the country itself was otherwise left untouched by the war and its economy was virtually unscathed. Reconstruction expenses were light, leaving Asturia the freedom to donate both money and aid to remedy the total destruction of Freid and Fanelia.

In the midst of the reconstruction, new foundations were laid on diplomatic grounds as well. More permanent alliances were formed, binding the three countries together in a triumvirate. Vows were made to act in the best interest of each ally in both trade and defense. Treaties were finalized in the courts of Asturia, barely weeks before King Aston took a turn for the worst.

The King's illness had entered remission for a time after the war, but it was said that the pressure of repairing the country took its toll on his health. After only four months, the king's illness returned tenfold, leaving him nearly bedridden. Word was sent immediately for Dryden Fassa, ordering him to return immediately. Full reign still remained in King Aston's hands, but all but the most important of tasks were delegated to his son-in-law.

However, in the last few months, the king's health took another tragic turn, leaving him a complete invalid. When it became evident that the end was near, the king officially transferred all royal power to Dryden, declaring he wished to spend the remainder of his days in peace. He refused news from outside his bed chamber. He despised visits, even from his own children. His nurses reported that he was slipping into a severe depression, refusing his meals and sleeping much of the day.

It was in this fragile time that Zaibach made its bid for peace, taking advantage, some thought, of the fragile condition of the Asturian monarchy.


	5. Part 1 Chapter 3

Thanks to everyone who has been reading.

Please R&R!

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**Chapter 3**

If the Asturian nobility were stuffy, their accommodations were doubly so. Even in the vast space of the banquet hall, Van Fanel felt claustrophobic. Formalities on top of formalities. Forced conversation with anyone of rank. Torture upon torture. They had all been quite intrigued with him but all too proper to ask anything to his face, so the young king had been subjected to any number of comically discrete stares and whispered conversations.

It didn't help that he felt like a poor country boy in the presence of the infinitely more sophisticated aristocracy. He couldn't remember any occasion in Fanelia that ever called for such overdone formality. Who the hell in their right mind got so dressed up for supper? Even an important supper…

Thank God for Dryden. If there was ever a man who refused to conform to the horrid fashion of high society, it was Dryden. The former merchant had been quick to rescue Van from an overwhelming sea of whispers only to deliver him into the only possible place that promised to be even more awkward. The supper table.

It seemed the Asturian king took great pleasure in offering Van his seat… a seat at the side of one Celena Schezar. The girl had giggled at his blushes and poked fun at his manners, trying in vain to force him to crack a smile. But how could he smile at her? Even if it was foolish, he still could not help but feel on edge in her presence. Even two years had not cured him of a healthy sense of paranoia.

As soon as the dishes had been cleared, he managed to slip through the crowd and make his way into the gardens. No lanterns had been lit that evening for it had been anticipated that the nobility would remain inside, away from the chilly night air. It was just as well. Van needed no further spotlight that evening. Once he had rounded the large hedges that hid the main gardens from the sight of the palace, he took hold of his collar, undoing the laces so he might breath with more ease. Damn the Asturians and their demands on fashion.

He had only lingered at the edge of the fountain for a few moments, one foot braced against the damp stone when he felt the familiar tingle of nerves that often accompanied that awful feeling that one was being watched.

"I do believe you are afraid of women, Van Fanel." A pair of black ladies dress shoes stepped up onto the cold stone of the fountain and proceeded to prance their way around the rim, heedless of the slickness brought on by the splash of water.

"Pardon?" The word was nearly choked out when he realized who had followed him, dark eyes lifting slowly, almost fearfully to meet a pair of laughing blues. "Afraid of women?"

"Don't bother to deny it." Celena dropped back to the path after having ringed the fountain once and began to stroll at a leisurely pace, gloved fingers reaching out to caress the rose bushes as she passed. "I watched you. When Lady Florae's daughters greeted you, you turned as red as flame." She turned to pace back the way she had come, fingers still dancing over the flowers. "And you refused to look at me throughout supper. You still won't look at me. You're afraid."

"I'm not afraid of women!" Van hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but he very much disliked this girl speaking to him as if he were no more than silly boy trying to play at being grown.

"Then why won't you talk to me?" She had closed in on him so quickly, Van had no hope of turning away without ultimately proving her right. Perhaps that had been her plan. Perhaps she meant to look at him in just such a manner that would make him feel sick with guilt.

When she received no answer, the girl rolled her eyes, giving a sigh meant to sound exaggerated. "You know, onii-sama told me you were still too immature for me to expect much, but I didn't believe him. You know how he is. He thinks all women are in love with him. But I told him he was wrong. I told him that Van Fanel was charming and chivalrous in his own right and just because he didn't want to make women swoon didn't mean he wasn't just as worthy of them."

"Onii-sama talks about you a lot. He tells me in Fanelia you don't care so much about rank. That you'd just as easily talk to your laborers as you would the nobility. I'm not allowed to talk to anybody. Just the other day I talked Gaddes into taking me down to the harbor and we sat down in one of the taverns for a little while. Onii-sama was furious with him for exposing me to that. Of all the ridiculous things to worry about, ne?" She paused a moment, then, flashing him a bit of a smile. "But all that aside, you shouldn't be scared of me. I'm not going to bite you."

Despite her best efforts, Van had still only managed to stare blankly, wondering just how he was expected to reply to such a barrage. "Ah… I never thought you would… I just…" Just what? Thought she was going to shove a dagger in his back? Thought she was going to somehow become that monster again and…

"I'm sorry, Van… I probably shouldn't have come out here to bother you. I just couldn't stand to be in there a moment longer and I thought, where better to go than the gardens… with you…"

The awkward silence that followed only served to make things worse and so after a few moments, Celena smiled brightly again and started to step backwards towards the palace. "I should probably get back before onii-sama tears the place apart looking for me." She started towards the door, but paused for a moment just before she would have passed him.

A gloved hand came to rest against his cheek for a moment, a tender, affectionate gesture before it turned teasing, patting his cheek twice as if she were scolding. Then she grasped her skirts, retreating to the palace at a light trot.

* * *

One of the monotonous duties often handed off to the youngest of the Knights was that of pointless guard. At least such boring assignments were only dolled out to the Knights on the advent of important diplomatic occasions. Mostly they were there as a living decoration, a display of all things Asturian: power, grace, and chivalry. So then, Baedan wondered, why wasn't that god among men, Allen Schezar forced to stand outside a door for hours on end and look pretty?

Talks had begun just after breakfast, meaning that Baedan had been expected at his post before breakfast. This had left him time only for a small bite to eat and a few minutes to wash his face. Sure, he could have gotten up a bit earlier, but who wanted to do that? He would only have to look alert when the nobles were looking his way, though he was certain their thoughts would be too busy with that morning's talks to notice one of the knights looked slightly scruffy.

It had been a challenge to hold back his yawns as the parties filtered in. It had also been a bit of a challenge not to smirk a bit at all the passing dignitaries. There had been Dryden Fassa, far too cheerful for such an ungodly hour. Just on his heels came the King of Fanelia, not even bothering to hide his yawns. Baedan guessed kings had the luxury of yawning where knights did not.

Behind Fanelia came a trio of men clothed in the traditional black cloaks that designated them as Madoushi. With them was a lone representative of the Zaibach military. It would have been an understatement to say the men gave Baedan the creeps. More specifically, they made his skin crawl. He had never seen one of the Madoushi before, and though he'd heard tales of secret experiments conducted in dark towers, he still hadn't expected them to be quite so… menacing. For once it was a pleasure to keep his eyes straight ahead. So intent was he upon avoiding the gaze of the Madoushi, that he failed to observe their figurehead military escort, who cast a rather curious glance at the young knight.

He was young, as far as generals went, the youngest member of the former ruling tribunal. Only in his mid-thirties and still in his fighting prime, Turi Esteban was useful not only as a figurehead, but also as a reluctant bodyguard. The Madoushi would only accept such a young man on the promise that he would ward them should Asturia prove to be traitorous. While he would have much rather put his sword in their backs, Esteban agreed to their terms, if only because the Madoushi were something akin to roaches. It never mattered how many you killed, for they multiplied at an exponential rate.

The head of the Madoushi delegation, in fact, the head of the entire order called himself Aldon. Like many of the elder Madoushi, he was secretive and mysterious, though as time progressed and the tower filled to overflowing with students, more and more of his pupils thought it nothing more than an act. Aldon liked the idea of power. He liked having knowledge no other living man possessed and more than anything, he liked holding back from the greedy minds of his colleagues. He maintained an aloof air, only speaking when spoken to and all but ignoring his two younger companions.

The Madoushi Emil was only just past his thirtieth year, but already looked well into his fortieth. He had never quit been as skilled with fate as Dornkirk's chosen few and though he made heartfelt attempts at improving his performance, it was only after many senior Madoushi died in the Fate Wars that his effort was recognized. Of course, this was mainly due to the lack of remaining Madoushi to carry out the tower's wishes. Still, he had a knack for certain menial tasks and was as dedicated a follower as one could wish. His high rank was tentative, at best. It would have been even more so if not for the support of his colleague, Corbett.

Corbett was young, just past his twentieth birthday, but already high in the Madoushi chain of command. He had entered the tower only three years prior and already his ambition and quick mind had put him in reach of even Aldon's much exalted position. Of course, he had never openly claimed to be pursuing rank, yet oddly enough he had supporters throughout the various ranks of the tower, a secret which the Madoushi kept tightly under wraps. Allowing their enemies to see any fracturing in their ranks would prove disastrous for either faction. Of course, this also prevented Aldon from seeking outside allies and thus his position, though still official, grew more precarious by the hour.

Baedan's avoidance of the Madoushi set his gaze much more quickly upon the next party to enter. The young Duke of Freid was exchanging whispered words with an advisor of sorts, a man cloaked in the ceremonial robes of the Freidan priesthood. The boy, though he looked very familiar, was only granted the briefest of glances. His attention was focused instead on the advisor. There was nothing unusual about the man on first glance, just a typical member of the priesthood, cloaked in orange, but the mere sight of him sent Baedan's stomach into chaos.

The churning was followed by an overwhelming stench, forcing the young knight to raise a hand to his face, covering mouth and nose. Vision blurred and the last thing he recalled was the startled voice of the young Duke, startlingly familiar for a boy he'd never met. "Are you all right? Sir Knight?"


	6. Part 1 Chapter 4

Thanks to those of you who have expressed interest in this fic. And thanks to those of you who have reviewed. I hope you all continue to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.

This chapter has a lot of focus on the new characters, but I promise you'll see a lot more of the original cast as things progress.

Please continue to R& R!

Thanks,

-sor

* * *

**Chapter 4**

The collapse of the knight had been unfortunate, but it would have been unwise to allow such a matter to postpone discussions. After taking a moment to confirm that the boy would be properly cared for, Dryden ushered the young Duke inside, directing the boy to his chair. The door was then closed, blocking off the proceedings from the rest of the palace with the one exception of a pair of knights standing just inside the door. Dryden was no fan of the Knights of Caeli, but perhaps that was due to a certain prejudice on his part. A prejudice, he reminded himself, which was completely unjustified. Just because one knight lacked character, he could not hold it against the rest. The two men at the door, most especially.

They were two of the oldest of the order, men far past their fighting prime, who had been in service to the Asturian throne for going on forty years. They were good men, the patriarchs of a pair of influential noble houses and to deny them their ceremonial positions inside the conference room would have been near political suicide. Sometimes it irked Dryden that politics came so often before logic in Asturia and it was something he hoped to change. Certainly the two old men were loyal servants of the throne, but they hadn't seen battle in decades. Yet here they were, protecting the dignitaries from harm.

If Zaibach had come intending harm, these two old men would not deter them. Hell, it would probably encourage any attempts. Dryden held no illusions about his own prowess with a sword. It was non-existent. In fact, the only one in the room who could rival that Zaibach military escort was Van Fanel, who sadly looked ready for a nap.

"Don't worry, friends, I'm sure the lad will be right as rain." Dryden stepped around the table towards the rather massive chair that stood at the head. It might have been gaudy enough to be called a throne had Dryden not seen the real throne of Asturia. Though it was hardly his style, it still had a purpose and so he'd ignored his initial impulse to have the thing removed. It was a sign of power and while he detested such, Dryden also recognized the necessity. It was a subtle (perhaps not so subtle) reminder of who was in charge of these discussions.

The acting king took his seat first, another one of those necessary displays of power. In addition to being far too ornate, the damn chair was terribly comfortable. Now that was something that would have to be dealt with post haste. Comfort was a dangerous thing when conducting business. If a man allowed his body too much comfort, his mind would not be quite so sharp as it was on other occasions. Of course, the other extreme was just as true. A certain level of discomfort could also have adverse effects on a man's mind. It was the challenge, then, to find the proper balance that would place one's mind in its most focused state.

Around the table followed the scraping of chairs as the rest of the delegates took their seats. At his right hand, Van Fanel covered yet another yawn, which was rewarded by a sharp kick from Dryden. He ignored the dirty look given him by the youth and instead turned his attention to the business at hand.

When the others seemed settled and attentive, they were met with the firm, no-nonsense face that Dryden only put on for business. There were no formalities laid out. Such frivolous things had been taken care of at the banquet the previous evening. "Gentleman of Zaibach. Your proposal?"

xxxx

_The stench was the only thing that registered clearly in his mind. He was choking on it, a stench so heavy it was almost tangible. All around him was darkness. A severe pain in his leg. An overwhelming sense of anxiety and fear. A keen sense of failure. Humiliation. But more keen than the rest, a deep sorrow. He'd let someone down. A face floated just past the edges of vision. He knew he would recognize it if only he could see it. If he could just reach out and touch it…_

"_Don't fail me. Do you understand? Do you hear me,…"_

"Baedan? Do you hear me, Baedan?"

His first attempt at a response came out as an unintelligible garble of noises. His mouth was dry. However, the second attempt was much more productive. "Who's there? Where am I?" Hadn't he been standing guard at…

"Shit!" The young knight sat bolt upright, nearly sending the slender form that sat perched on his bedside toppling to the floor. To her credit, Celena Schezar managed to keep her seat with uncanny balance, only reacting to the sudden movement with an amused smile.

The girl placed both hands against his shoulders, pushing him down against the pillows again. "Another knight took your post, Baedan. The doctor said there's nothing wrong with you, but that you should rest for a while just in case. So I'm here to make sure you do just as you're told. No argument." There was something strange in her voice, a slight hint of commanding tone that left Baedan uncharacteristically docile.

Once he had settled back again, the knight couldn't help but feel sick. He'd fainted in front of everyone. In front of the Duke of Freid! In front of… "Wait, what are you doing here? Were you there when I…?" Oh, God. He'd fainted in front of Celena Schezar!

She only seemed amused by his distress, though, giggling softly at the rising color in his cheeks. "No, but I heard it from one of the servants. Everyone was talking about the knight that fainted in front of the entire diplomatic conference. When I found out it was you, I thought I'd come sit with you. You needed someone here when you woke up to tell you the entire palace is laughing at you. I'd hate for you to go out with no warning."

He wasn't exactly sure what to say to that. Obviously, she was making fun of him, but he couldn't bring himself to be insulted. How could he be? She had come to sit with him, after all. "Did they all really see it? I thought they'd gone inside by then…"

"Well, from what I heard, you made a pretty loud thud when you hit the floor." Celena's smile was contagious and soon, despite his humiliation, Baedan was smiling as well.

However, smiles were not enough to completely eliminate the awkward air that hung heavily around them. Baedan couldn't manage to look at her for more than a few seconds without ducking his head or averting his eyes. Some instinct told him that staring too long might cause an unfavorable reaction. So when he finally voiced a timid question, his eyes were locked on his hands where they sat clasping the bedsheets. "Lady Schezar… Why are you here? Really?"

Celena's face grew more serious, her blue eyes focused on the window, or something else beyond it in the gardens. She did not answer right away, leaving the pair to sit in a quickly lengthening silence. Finally, her voice, more timid than he had ever heard, spoke in a near whisper. "I was worried about you. It's not like you to just collapse. You're usually so strong and it would kill you to have other people think of you as weak. I knew you'd feel awful so I just… I wanted to be here."

The mattress shifted as Baedan sat up again. He'd decided he didn't need to lay down to rest and wasn't about to let Celena tell him otherwise. Besides, she seemed to be a little less commanding at the moment. "You wanted to be here? Why? I thought your brother didn't like it when you talked to me."

"Do you think I care what he likes? If he's allowed to have an affair with the Princess then I should be allowed to speak to a man." She turned away from the window and finding Baedan sitting up again, planted her palms firmly on his shoulders again, pushing him against the pillow. "I said you need to rest. Now stop acting so tough."

This time, however, Baedan wasn't going to let her get away with the shoving. When her hands touched his shoulders, he did lie back, but at the same time his own hands closed around her shoulders, pulling Celena down with him. Immediately, though, he realized the error of his decision. This wasn't one of the guys he was dealing with! This was a woman. Celena Schezar, the younger sister of one of the most powerful men in Asturia. And he'd just pulled her into _bed_ with him!

Baedan's hands jerked away from her shoulders as if they were on fire and he made some vain attempt at sinking down into the bed. "Lady Schezar, I..! Well, what I mean is… I didn't mean to I just…"

The knight's panicked words were silenced by a rather sly grin that should have seemed totally foreign to Celena's face, yet seemed strangely familiar. Taking advantage of his silence, Celena, one of the most well-bred ladies in Asturia, closed the distance between them and pressed a forceful kiss to Baedan's lips.

Baedan found himself shocked and immobile and at the complete mercy of Celena. She seemed to enjoy the state she had put him in, nipping teasingly at his lips until he finally began to respond. Just as he finally began to feel comfortable with the girl's forcefulness, she drew back, rising from the bed as she went.

"If I hear word of you out and about before the doctor gives his permission, I'll see to it that you regret it, Baedan Trevelian." The door closed behind her with a deafening thud leaving Baedan staring after her, struggling somehow to breath.

xxxx

Very few of the chief Madoushi had survived both the Fate War and the following civil war. The Militarists had been in possession of quite a few talented snipers and more than one Madoushi leader fell to a well placed projectile. Yet Aldon had survived. He liked to think it was due to his outstanding intelligence, but his younger comrades would have argued just as quickly for pure dumb luck.

Whatever the reason, Aldon had survived and with the exception of one other man, he was the last remaining Madoushi to have served directly under Dornkirk. He had been instrumental to the success of the Fate Alteration Engine (though success was a relative term) and had been the head of many, more secretive projects. He had a hand in developing the technology that made it possible to reconstruct Folken Fanel's arm. He had called himself Dilandau Albatou's father. He was the only one left among the Madoushi who had any right to head the order.

After that morning's rather pointless discussion on peace treaties, Aldon found himself more than happy to break from the talks and return to his room where he might find some peace and quiet. The two younger Madoushi he had brought with him talked endlessly, fussing and fretting over insignificant things. If they were to become leaders, they would have to learn to prioritize.

He pushed the door open to his temporary rooms, throwing the heavy cloak from his shoulders as he went. "Daien, make yourself useful and fetch me some tea."

Daien came scampering rather quickly from the adjoining bedroom, half bowing to his employer on his way to the small kitchen. The man was nearly twenty-five, but still looked very much like a boy as far as Aldon was concerned. He was thin, almost scrawny one could say, with a face that could have belonged to a girl. His pale flesh and fair hair made him look fragile, though Aldon knew he could hold his own should he be pushed far enough. Daien had been in his service for the past two years, taken in after his service to Dornkirk had ended with the old fool's death. Aldon liked to think he'd made life much easier for his charge. Anything would have been easier than seeing to Dornkirk's bodily needs.

The best thing about Daien, though, was that the boy was mute. He was perfectly, blessedly silent. A wonderful quality to have in a servant.

He was also quick. By the time Aldon had settled into his armchair, Daien was presenting him with a fresh cup of steaming tea, and then backing away just as quickly to take care of the discarded cloak beside the door.

"Well, Aldon? Did things go well this morning?"

Even if orders had been to leave his communication screen active at all times, Aldon was very tempted at the moment to shut the damn thing off and never touch it again. Still, could he really afford to make enemies at such a fragile time? Especially enemies that could be as dangerous and powerful as Cerin.

He stood with the grace of a large snake and turned to face the fuzzy image on the screen. The smile on his face was practically poisonous, though he knew very well the expression could hardly carry to the other man through the static. "Cerin. I'm so pleased you called. I was beginning to enjoy being alone for the first time in three days."

If the Madoushi's sarcasm was noted, Cerin gave no indication. "Does Asturia welcome our proposals? Are they inclined to provide us with assistance?"

"The merchant seems quite interested in discussing trade and funding." Aldon was talented at dealing with rulers, but this Dryden was unlike any other king he had dealt with. The man still thought like a merchant in terms of goods and profit. It would be an advantage. "He has made many suggestions to stimulate our economy and while I am quite reluctant to admit it, there are those that hold water. However, he wishes further private discussion with his allies before coming to a decision on terms of trade. We will meet again this evening."

"Satisfactory. I will contact you again in the evening." Without so much as a farewell, the screen fell silent, leaving the room a bit dimmer, but blessedly more silent.

Aldon eased back into his chair, taking a slow sip from his tea. After a measured sigh of contentment, he called over his shoulder to Daien, who had just come from his usual duty of hanging and brushing his cloak, "Prepare a bath, would you? As warm as you can manage. I have a feeling I'll be needing the relaxation while I can get it."


	7. Part 1 Chapter 5

Thanks again for all the positive feedback I've received. I'm extremely flattered! I hope I can continue to deliver the quality you guys will appreciate.

-sor

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**Chapter 5**

The door closed firmly as the last of the Madoushi left the conference room, followed by an unhappy snort from Van Fanel. "I don't trust them. They're not here because they want peace. The Madoushi never wanted peace."

"They want peace when it is convenient for them to have it." Dryden rose from his chair, smiling warmly at the pair of young men who sat on either side of him. "And for now, they want peace. They want funds and they want trade. It remains to be seen their intentions once Zaibach is stable once more." He crossed the room, pushing the door open and holding it so the others might pass ahead of him. "For now, we need not worry. They are in too dire a need to contemplate treachery." Dryden knew well enough that they wouldn't be reassured by simple words, but he made the effort in the hopes of easing their minds, even a little

"We will reconvene in a few hours. I won't keep you any longer." He didn't want to seem as if he was rushing them, but he needed a few hours to think without the distracting, often brooding presence that was Van Fanel. So when the door closed behind them, Dryden let out a long, dramatic sigh. Alone at last.

So often, he found it much easier to sort through complicated matters without the presence of others. He hated to call himself a loner, but there were times when he preferred books to people. Books were so much less complicated.

The early afternoon sunlight was streaming gently through the windows, bathing the formerly cool room with warmth. Soon it would become uncomfortably warm as the sun began to descend. For that reason talks had been postponed until evening. Nothing could be accomplished if all the parties involved were worried about the uncomfortable afternoon heat.

The conference room opened out onto a wide balcony sometimes used to host formal meals or more informal teas. At the moment, there were a few small tables and chairs set up for just such a purpose, though it was doubtful they would ever be used. Dryden was not about to treat the Madoushi to tea if it could be helped.

After a moment's thought, he pushed the curtains back from the door, opening it and stepping out onto the balcony. One of the chairs was pushed away, leaving him room to rest his forearms against the stone railing. The balcony offered a lovely view of the gardens below and at this time of the year, the flowers were all in bloom. It was something pleasant to look upon for a change. Something other than the inside of the palace walls.

He really needed to get out more often. When had he become used to living within four stationary walls?

Just below the balcony lay a patch of garden bordered by high hedge walls. This was one of the private gardens that lay scattered throughout the palace compound, a place for the royal family and their guests where they might enjoy nature undisturbed. Still, they were rarely frequented, as they were somewhat cramped. This was why Dryden was surprised when a flash of movement from within the high walls caught his eye.

His curiosity was piqued. Certainly it was wrong to spy on someone who was obviously seeking privacy for a reason, but then again, who would notice? He leaned forward over the railing, this time catching a glimpse of blonde curls. "Millerna?" The name was mumbled under his breath. Why was she out and about in the private gardens? He'd never known her to visit them before. She had always preferred the grandness of the main gardens.

Still, it was not such a suspicious act in and of itself. It was only when a second set of footsteps echoed up from the stone walkway that Dryden became concerned.

The princess turned quickly at the sound of the approaching boots, a smile brightening her face. It was nice to see her smile. She spent so much time as of late at her father's bedside, her brow creased with constant worry. Yet there was no hint of that worry in her eyes now. No hint of sadness or stress.

The source of Millerna's joy was kept secret only a moment more as the second party paused, just out of sight beneath the balcony. Then the figure came into view, taking a few hurried strides before scooping the princess into an affectionate embrace.

Allen Schezar.

It would have been a lie to say he was surprised. Who else but Allen could it really have been? Who else could make her shine like the jewel that she was if not her knight? Dryden certainly could not claim to. These days, he was hard pressed to make her smile, let alone glow. No, he wasn't the least bit surprised.

There had been the rumors, of course, and rumors were difficult to ignore, especially when they were true. The staff often whispered to one another where they thought he could not hear, telling stories of the princess and her knight and their romantic interludes. They thought he didn't know. The lovers had always been careful to hide their meetings from him as if they thought him dim enough not to suspect they occurred. Millerna would slip away in the early evenings or just before sunrise to take a walk or to get a breath of fresh air. Allen would be absent from his posts on occasion. He would come late to sword drills. But he was always allowed. He was a hero, after all. He could get away with such things.

It was one thing to know a thing occurred, but another entirely to see it with your own eyes. Dryden had thought himself long immune to the hurt. After all, he had been the one to walk away, pledging he would find a way to make her fall for him. He had failed and had only himself to blame. How could he begrudge her happiness, even if it came in the arms of another man, if he had not been able to provide it himself?

The lovers had long since ended their embrace by the time Dryden's mind cleared enough to allow him to observe them without succumbing to the dull ache in his chest. They had strolled to the far end of the garden hand in hand and the knight had just paused to gently pluck one of the newly bloomed roses from a bush, presenting it to the princess with a flourish that simply oozed charm. The gesture seemed to have its desired effect, causing the girl to blush and duck her head. Allen seemed amused by the sudden shyness and proceeded to raise her chin once more by ducking his own head in a gesture that would have looked terribly awkward on most men and capturing her lips for a brief, but still somehow passionate kiss.

Brief, only because it was interrupted by a sharp intake of breath and the sound of a chair toppling.

xxxx

Allen could be such the romantic and with so little effort. The rose, the kiss, all of it done with such perfection that a girl could hardly think of anything but the gallant, angelic knight at her side. It was so easy to become entranced by any kiss from Allen, any touch, any gesture. It was like being free from one's body, like floating, like flying, all within the span of a single breath.

A breath…

The sharp breath from above was nearly enough to draw Millerna out of Allen's arms, but the accompanying clatter was what did the trick. The princess drew back with a start, exchanging a brief, worried glance with her lover before searching franticly for the source of the interruption. If someone had seen them it would only mean more fuel for the already bustling rumor mill that existed within the community of palace servants. By nightfall the entire country would know she had been kissing Allen in the gardens.

Finding nothing in the garden itself, her eyes darted upwards towards the balcony above. The balcony should have been empty; after all she had taken great pains to be informed of the end of talks. There was nothing more scheduled for the room until evening. It should have been very much empty. But a quick glance to that balcony told her it most certainly was not.

"Dryden…" The name was accompanied by a sick, sinking feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. This was worse than a servant. Worse than any other disaster she could think of. It was futile to hope he had seen nothing. It was quite obvious that he had seen everything and in his haste to escape, had stumbled over one of the chairs that sat beside the rail.

Having been quite caught in the act of spying, the acting king made no attempt to flee. He simply stood, still as a statue, meeting her gaze with an amazing show of restraint. After a time, his lips twitched, forced into a smile that was only a shadow of its usual self, holding none of the good humor he was so renowned for. The smile did not last long, however, for he chose that moment to flee, pushing the chair aside as he made his way back within the cold stone walls of the palace.


	8. Part 1 Chapter 6

If you couldn't tell by my last few chapters, I'm a huge Dryden fan.Expect him to play a larger part in this than he did in the original. Also in the future, I promise more Allen. But today is Van's day.

Thanks again to everyone who's been following this story and especially to Nielawen. I'mflattered by your praise! Feel free to continue to inflate my ego. :)

Enjoy chapter 6 everyone.

-sor

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**Chapter 6**

Van Fanel had not been placated by Dryden's insistence that the time had not yet come to worry. In fact, the man's words of 'comfort' had only succeeded in worrying him all the more. Dryden was a shrewd businessman, yes, but he was too soon to the throne to be an equally shrewd politician. Not that Van counted himself among the ranks of great politicians, but he'd spent considerable time attempting to master some aspect of it.

It was times like this he wished he hadn't run away from his lessons so often as a boy… when he'd never wanted to be king. When he'd rolled his eyes at Balgus and evaded his tutors with familiar ease. Thanks to his foolishness all those years ago, now he was forced into late nights, pouring over texts detailing histories and intricate political alliances. It didn't help matters that he hated studying even more now than he had as a boy.

He didn't recall much of the Madoushi. Only what Folken had recorded during his brief time in Asturia and that information was outdated. Most of those men were dead. Most of the technology destroyed. Useless, all of it. Even so, he doubted Dryden was right when he said Zaibach was too desperate to consider treachery. There was no such thing as being too desperate for treachery, especially when you were Madoushi.

Unconscious thought had brought him eventually to the gilded hallways leading to the private suites of those nobles who opted to stay in the palace. Van had temporary quarters there, but he wasn't ready to return to his rooms just yet. What would he do there but sit and stew in his own worries for the length of the afternoon?

The hallway led also to one of the many outdoor pavilions used for entertaining guests in the warm summer evenings. It stood empty now, but within the hour there were sure to be servants bustling about, preparing for that evening's after dinner conversation. He still didn't understand what it was with Asturia and all her ridiculous formalities. Supper in multiple courses. After dinner tea. After tea dancing. He was still trying to find some way out of it all.

A number of large windows lined the hallway, giving it a feeling of open air, especially when the shades were pulled and the windows opened. In the summer months, the windows remained open, creating a cross breeze throughout the hallway and driving away some of the stuffy summer heat. The breeze came in from the sea and even inside the palace, the faint smell of salt hung in the air. It was yet another of those tiny things that made the great port city of Palas so foreign to a boy raised in mountain and forest. It made him homesick for the fresh, clear air that blew down through the valleys.

Eyes swept over the pavilion and into the gardens beyond. As always, the gardens were permeated with nobles in their light and airy afternoon attire, wandering casually among the blossoming flowers. Those slow, measured strides marking them as Asturian, even when they assumed no one was watching. That was why it was so easy for him to pick out the only pair in the garden that was decidedly not Asturian.

The boy was fair and delicate, but a bit too exuberant to have been raised in one of the stuffiest societies to ever grace Gaea's earth. He smiled too brightly and moved too freely. He turned backwards to walk, facing his companion, a dark-haired girl of no more than fifteen, arm waving this way and that to indicate one thing or another, as if he were giving the girl a grand tour without words.

The girl, in turn, seemed completely intrigued by the boy and his wild gesturing, a look of light concentration on her face, intent upon following his meaning. Now and then she would interrupt him, presumably to ask for clarification, because after such a pause the boy would consider, then offer a series of gestures again, but more slowly and deliberately, after which, the girl would nod and they would continue on their way.

Van watched the pair for a time, finding himself beginning to pick up on the odd language of gestures the boy used, which included a few gestures he had probably not been meant to see. Things that donated a certain dislike for their hosts, such as the boy thumbing his nose in the air and strutting about, which made the girl giggle madly.

They were making fun of Asturia. Van had to like them a touch, if only for that.

"They're part of the Zaibach delegation."

The soft, feminine voice at his side made Van turn with a start. He'd been under the impression the hallway was deserted, but here he found himself face to face once more with the soft smile and bright eyes of Celena Schezar.

Damn that girl and her soft footsteps!

She only laughed at his surprise and took a few steps closer to stand at his side and peer out the window. "The man is a servant of the chief Madoushi, Aldon." She, too, watched the boy with a faint glint of amusement in her eyes, though she had no doubt seen his mocking of Asturian nobles. The insults did not seem to phase her as she was more intent upon imparting her wisdom on Van, whose expression changed every moment by leaps and bounds.

"A Zaibach servant?"

"Of course, rumors would have you believe the old man used him for more than cleaning house, but it is completely unfounded. It's more likely Daien was brought along to entertain Aldon's granddaughter." She gestured faintly towards the girl.

"Granddaughter?" The mere thought of that old prune Aldon having any family at all was enough to startle the Fanelian King, but to think he could manage to produce offspring that seemed so pleasant… Obviously the girl had not inherited the Madoushi's awful, sour moods.

"She has been under his care since the civil war, or so he claims. He claims her parents were killed in the conflicts with the militarists. Some ridiculous attack on the civilian quarters around the Madoushi tower." Celena shook her head, one arm planted firmly on a hip in a manner that gave the girl a rather uncomfortable resemblance to Dilandau Albatou. "I don't believe it, though."

Van considered the girl, brows creased in thought. He had seen more than he liked of Aldon from across the meeting table and he had to admit that the girl possessed none of the man's rather distinctive features. Nothing about her remotely resembled a constipated weasel. "You don't believe she's his granddaughter?"

"That, I'm not sure about." The young woman's brow wrinkled. She didn't seem too happy with herself, though Van could not figure out why. She seemed to have figured out quite a bit more than he could have ever hoped to. It seemed he had underestimated the girl, classifying her as Allen's sister and assuming her to be a bit innocent. Or at least a bit childish, as she had been when she'd first returned to Asturia. But no. Celena Schezar was sharp and observant. More so than Van could have ever imagined.

"The civil war in Zaibach was an awful ordeal, at least from what I can tell. Most records are closed and the details held by the Madoushi. Convenient, when much of what they base their negotiations on are matters hidden behind secret oaths. They claim to not wish to revisit such a harsh period and only to move on. I might be inclined to believe it, too, if they did not produce such lies." She shook her head, blue eyes following the pair who toured the gardens.

"That girl is no relation to Aldon. The story about her origins is unbelievable at best. The militarists would never have attacked civilians so openly, Madoushi allies or no. The ruthless practices that went on two years ago were under Dornkirk's guidance. The four great generals of Zaibach disliked his methods. They protested the destruction of Fanelia and Fried." She sniffed sharply at this, as if a part of her thought this relative compassion of the generals was a sign of weakness. She did not, however, seem to realize she'd done such a thing, but merely continued.

"If they found such tactics distasteful when propagated against enemies, why would they use them against their own people? Many of whom had served the military in the past? It is uncharacteristic. Granddaughter or not, there is some lie surrounding that girl. I don't trust it one bit."

Silence followed the young woman's speech as the pair watched the supposed granddaughter and her guide reach the end of the garden path, where they paused a moment before slipping away into the bushes, hands clasped like two children playing at adventure games.

Celena, whose demeanor had turned again to the rather bright, exuberant lady who had pursued him the night before, giggled softly at the departure. "He likes her. Can you tell? The way he smiles at her and holds her hand. If I had any care at all for Zaibach, I'd admit that it was almost sweet." Mistrust, it seemed, had colored her appreciation of a pair of young prospective lovers.

Van, though, hadn't noticed a bit of it. He blinked slowly, regarding Celena with a bit of confusion. He hadn't noticed anything about the duo to suggest any affection at all between them. But rather than inquire further as to how she'd managed to deduce such a thing, Van turned his focus on more sour topics. "Why should it matter if Aldon's granddaughter is running through the gardens with his servant? That's his problem to deal with."

"Maybe so, but still it's something worth noting." She turned his way with a little hop, threading her arm through his in a gesture that caught Van quite off guard. The girl's abrupt mood swings left him feeling more than uncomfortable. With another it might have been different, but knowing what she had once been brought a new element to any change in her emotional state.

His thoughts were interrupted when Celena gave his arm a light tug, pulling him towards the doorway that led out to the pavilion. "Come on. Enough of this boring talk. I'm sure you've been up to your ears in it all morning. I'll give you your own tour of the gardens and we can talk about how silly the women's fashions are this year." There was laughter in her eyes once more and for once, Van found himself grateful for the company of an Asturian noblewoman.

"All right. It'll be fun."

xxxx

"Celena Schezar." The name was voiced with a hint of humor as the pair of Madoushi observed the girl from afar. Emil at his side, Corbett had opted to walk off a bit of the tension brought about by morning talks. Really, things had not gone badly, but Aldon was a loud blowhard and insisted upon doing all the talking himself. Really, as talented as the man might be in science, he was a horrid negotiator. Corbett would have been lying to say he did not think every minute about sending the old fool back to Zaibach where he belonged.

Preferably, sending him back in a box.

The pair had watched the Fanelian king and the Asturian noblewoman while they shared their little chat until they finally vanished out onto the pavilion and beyond. Only then did Corbett judge it safe to speak. He did not intend to draw any ill will from their hosts, nor from the rulers of countries who had every right to hold a long standing grudge against Zaibach. Their battle was an uphill one already without sending Van Fanel into a fury.

"So that's the girl Aldon is obsessing over?" He shook his head slightly, sending long strands of honey blonde tumbling over his collar. Aldon was a fool. He thought himself very clever in his observations of the girl, but Corbett had followed each and every time, noting how hungrily the older man watched a girl young enough to be his granddaughter. What an old pervert. To think that he had been chosen to lead the order!

No, that wasn't quite true. No one had chosen Aldon. Aldon had chosen himself, proclaiming his age and experience and using them as banners to illustrate his obvious leadership qualities. Well, if such qualities were present, Corbett had not seen them. Already the man was making a mess of negotiations.

It seemed obvious to the youngest of the delegates exactly how to deal with Dryden Fassa. The man was an intellectual who adored a good discussion and could be easily swayed by good trade benefits. It would be most beneficial for Zaibach were they to finish negotiations quickly before Dryden Fassa learned to be a king and not a merchant. Aldon, though, did not seem to realize this.

All that bullshit about age and wisdom? It was just that. Bullshit.

At his side, Emil smirked, shaking his head. "So does that mean you'll be obsessing over her as well simply so you can do it better?"

The younger Madoushi had to laugh. If he was only a substandard Madoushi, Emil had a fair sense of humor and a likeable quality not found in many of their elder colleagues. It would serve them well in the months to come. The tower was bursting with young, eager students who were not quickly warming to the old ways of silence and indifference. They would easily welcome one of their own above one of the old men.

"Perhaps," Corbett clamped a hand firmly on his friend's shoulder for a moment before stepping forward towards the windows the girl had been standing beside moments before. "Or perhaps my obsession is to seeing that Aldon does not get a single thing he wants." From the window he could see the pair moving through the gardens, the girl laughing brightly despite the awkward, uncomfortable air that hung over the Fanelian lad like a cloud.

"Any idea why he wants her so badly?" Emil had followed, even chuckling a bit at the expression Van Fanel wore every time the girl looked his way.

Corbett's amusement faded. "No. Not even an inkling. It worries me, these secrets he keeps. If he plans to withhold Madoushi secrets even from his fellow Madoushi, should he not be reprimanded? He would do such a thing to us in half a heartbeat."

"Be careful, Corbett." The older man's jovial expression had faded and he now regarded his friend with furrowed, thoughtful brows. "You have the students on your side, but there are still many men left from the old regime who would hate another disruption. You could very well plunge us into another civil war and leave the tower wide open to a military invasion. That damn tribunal won't rest on their laurels much longer."

He would have gone on had Corbett not silenced him with a gentle, but sharp gesture. Emil was a good ally, though he tended to speak too much at times. "These things can wait until we have the funds we need." His hand retreated within the folds of his cloak, grey gaze turning to follow the young couple through the gardens. "For now, I must see to arranging some time in the library for tomorrow."

"Books again, Corbett? There aren't enough books in the tower for you?"

Again, the youth smiled, though this time there was something less than humorous in the expression. "I'm not after books."


	9. Part 1 Chapter 7

I don't have much to say up front tonight. Just my usual thanks to my usual readers and a welcome to anyone just starting. Also, thank you for the constant reviews. It's great to know you guys follow so closely. I see Macky's review almost always in the same day as I post the chapter. Thanks. :)

Enjoy, and as always, please review. More to say at the end.

-sor

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**Chapter 7**

"He saw it all." The knight's tone gave no hint of distress or worry, but instead was heavy with disbelief. Hadn't they been careful? Hadn't they taken every precaution to keep things secret? No. They had gotten careless. Two years behind them with no direct proof of their affair and they had gotten careless.

It was a different sensation than he had anticipated. Certainly he'd imagined it time and time again, but he'd always imagined himself a bit afraid or overcome with worry. He'd imagined Millerna's face, pale and sick with guilt. He'd imagined so many outcomes, so many emotions, but now that all was said and done, the only thing he could see in his mind's eye was Dryden.

Allen Schezar was overcome with guilt.

He'd seen the look in Dryden's eyes and he knew it well. That forced indifference that came in the form of a smile. It was an expression Allen had imagined his own face had held on many occasions. He could remember fighting to control the rage in his youth, the first time he'd watched the woman he loved married to another man. Then there came the silent resignation that had accompanied Millerna's wedding. He had been always silent and respectful, never giving away the turmoil. That had been the look he'd seen in Dryden Fassa's eyes.

The cushioned armchair seemed almost to cradle Allen's sudden exhaustion as he sunk into its arms, slouching against the back as if he would have collapsed without its support. "She's pregnant, Gaddes."

That prompted the first sound Gaddes had been able to make since Allen had returned home in such a worried state. He'd listened to it all, offering that understanding shoulder that Allen often needed but refused to admit to needing. He'd nodded in all the appropriate places and offered sympathetic expressions when they seemed most important. But this… "She's…. what?"

When Allen only cast an unhappy look his way, Gaddes switched into survival mode. Over the years he had come to know the knight's moods very well and with that came the knowledge of how to handle him when he was especially moody. When he was most emotional, Allen liked to pretend he felt nothing at all and that included conversation. For Gaddes to show even the least bit of shock would only make things worse. So rather than do as he wished, namely take a moment to pick his jaw up from the floor, he skipped ahead to the more practical questions. "Does Dryden know?"

"No. I'm the only one." Allen paused a moment, before admitting with a rueful smile. "We're the only ones."

That, at least, was a relief. Gaddes let out a slow breath before moving forward in his questioning, wading in with all the caution in the world. Anyone watching might have suspected he was easing his way into shark infested waters. "Is she going to tell him?"

"What choice does she have?"

That wasn't a promising answer. In fact, it made Gaddes' stomach twist almost painfully. "But… even if he saw you… it still could be his, right?"

Allen's laughter was short, sharp and almost bitter. "It's mine, Gaddes. I'm the only man she's ever slept with." The statement hung heavily in the air and it seemed as if even Gaddes could think of no bright side to that statement.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, disturbed every now and again by the cheerful birdsong floating in through the open window, Gaddes finally worked up the courage to voice what he'd been trying to for so long. "She hasn't slept with her own husband?"

Allen remained silent, his expression a mask of nothingness. Then, ever so slowly a smile crept onto his features, an expression of both ultimate sadness and ever increasing respect. If anything, he respected Dryden. Not in the way a man respected the honor of his competition or the talent of an intelligent ruler, but in a way Allen had never thought possible. He respected Dryden as a man. An honorable man.

"He won't force her. He won't even ask her." Allen pressed his hand against his face, laughing bitterly against his palm. "He won't even ask her. He'll know right away it's mine." The chair no longer offered comfort. In fact, he felt suddenly trapped and was on his feet in an instant, pacing the room like a caged beast.

"How could I let this happen again! How!" His fist slammed into the small oak table that sat beside the chair causing the fragile piece of furniture to first totter, and then fall. Allen paid it no mind, though, stepping over it so that he could continue his pacing undisturbed. His mind was swamped. He couldn't think, couldn't focus. All he could see before him was this child, another child he could never call his own. Another baby he could never hold. A son who could look up to him as a knight but never as a father.

"I'm going out." His pacing turned back towards the door, a hand darting out to snatch up his sword as he went. He couldn't stand to be confined here any longer, so he fled, the door slamming behind him with a resounding thud.

xxxx

The remainder of the afternoon break had passed uneventfully, but all together too slowly. Dryden had immersed himself in his work, going over financial reports from various ships in his fleet, examining what they had to offer for aid to Zaibach. Usually he enjoyed working with goods and numbers. It recalled his more carefree days when all he had to worry about was getting goods from point A to point B. Politics hadn't mattered then. But in those days, he was younger. He'd enjoyed his youth for a few years too many, he suspected, and now the times were forcing him to compensate for too many years of easy living.

For once, at least, he was thankful for the work. Work could take his mind off the scene in the garden that had been burned into his memory. Or, at least, he thought it could.

Work or no work, he still saw it. He put on a cheerful face for supper, but he still saw it. He saw it every time Millerna looked at him, her eyes wide with emotion. He saw it every time he noticed Allen's absence. The man had been gone all afternoon, or so he'd been told. Off riding, if Gaddes was to be believed.

After supper, there was the mandatory socialization that came with being an Asturian. Talk over wine about matters that had nothing to do with anything. Pointless discussions about weather and swordsmanship and other frivolities. Utterly pointless.

When he was finally able to slip away, Dryden made a direct line for his rooms. Millerna had excused herself some time earlier, complaining of an upset stomach, though Dryden was positive it had only been a ruse to avoid him. Not that he could blame her. Things were awkward enough already without perpetuating them by pretending to socialize as a couple. Things were awkward enough that Dryden hesitated for some time outside his own door before knocking and pushing it open. The main room was empty and the door to the bedchamber was shut. She must have turned in early. Poor thing.

Though he hated to disturb her, Dryden slipped silently into the bed chamber in order to retrieve the spare blanket he used on the sofa every evening. The entire country would have laughed to learn that Dryden Fassa spent every night for the past year curled up awkwardly on a sofa rather than in the bedroom with his wife. However, he wouldn't have it any other way. He wouldn't force himself into her bed until she invited him, wife or no wife.

The curtains were drawn, though moonlight still found its way through the cracks, casting a few brilliant stripes of blue lace over the bed where she lay, her face still cast in shadow. He stood gazing upon her for a moment before turning away towards the chest at the foot of the bed where the blankets were stored. The lid creaked and he cursed the noise under his breath. Creaky hinges would not serve to be his undoing. As cautious as a thief, he took the blanket and lowered the lid ever so slowly, inch by inch, until finally it lay shut without a sound.

"Dryden?" Her voice was soft, floating out of the shadows as if on one of those moonbeams that lay across the sheets.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to wake you." He placed the blanket atop the trunk and moved around the side of the bed. One hand moved on its own, as if to come to rest against her cheek, or shoulder, but it stopped, hanging there in a kind of limbo. "Are you feeling better?"

Much to his surprise, the blankets shifted and one of her hands, so tiny and delicate, even more so in the dim light, reached forward to take his, pulling him closer so he would have to take seat on the side of the bed. The action was so foreign, it left Dryden numb. She had never drawn him towards her in such a manner. She had always been so aloof, so careful with her affections. She was always afraid of leading him on, of that much he was certain. So to have her draw him near now…

"Millerna?" Something was amiss. She was not herself.

Her form shifted beneath the blankets again, this time as she sat up, reaching toward his face to remove his glasses and gently set them aside. This was followed by her hand, still warm from the blankets, coming to rest against his cheek, directing his face towards her own. The gesture was awkward, as if she were feeling her way through the motions for the first time. "Will you lay with me tonight, Dryden?" In her voice was a faint tremor, barely noticeable, but unmistakeable, and when she leaned forward to kiss him, she hesitated. It was only the barest hint of a pause, but it was there, and Dryden, ever observant, saw it.

The former merchant drew back, standing and taking a few steps away from the bed lest he be tempted to join her again. It was an offer he had been waiting for, but to have it come under such circumstances was more than suspicious. "No."

She hadn't expected that answer and sat up quickly, hugging the blankets around herself for security. "No?" Her face was now visible in the moonlight, confused and almost angry. There was fear now in her tone, though she masked it as quickly as it had come, painting on an expression of hurt, causing Dryden even more hesitation.

"Why would you ask now?" It pained him to ask such a question, but he wouldn't allow her to invite him to bed out of simple guilt. He couldn't help but wonder had he never seen them in the gardens would she still make such an invitation? His instinct told him the answer was a resounding no.

She seemed to have no answer, bowing her head, delicate fists clenching around the sheets in frustration. When she did not speak, Dryden pressed on. "Is it because I saw you? Do you wish to make it up to me? You should know I would never… not for that reason. Only if you wish it with all your heart."

"But I do wish it! I do want you to, Dryden!" That desperate, fearful tone had returned. It was most certainly not the tone a woman would use to beg her husband to sleep with her. "It has nothing to do with the garden! I just want you to, Dryden. You have to!"

"I have to?" A dark brow arched, though it must have been difficult for her to see there in the shadows cast by the curtains. "Why should I have to?"

"I didn't mean you had to… I simply meant… I just want… Dryden, why can't you just sleep with me? You are my husband, aren't you!" The blankets had been pushed aside now and she was scrambling out of the bed so she might cling to his arm.

He shivered. Slowly fear had begun to form in a tight knot in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, let alone cough out a reply. When it came, it was in a tone, harsh and cold and sharp as a knife, loud as a thunderclap. "Why!"

She was taken aback by his tone, and with good reason. He had never been anything but gentle with her. Had never raised his voice once, nor said anything to cause her pain. This sudden change in demeanor was too much for Millerna and in a rush of emotion and panic, she dropped to her knees, hands clutching his robes as she buried her face against them, soaking them with her tears. "Forgive me, Dryden. Please forgive me."

Guilt settled atop the fear in his gut and Dryden instantly regretted his harsh tone. So with all the gentleness he had ever given her, he bent to take her shoulders, guiding her to her feet so he could hold her against his chest. It seemed as if an eternity passed before her sobs slowly began to subside and she found her voice once more. At first she continued to beg his forgiveness, unable to force herself to speak clearly. But ever so slowly the soothing touch of his hand in her hair, the calm security of his arms around her calmed her sobs and eased her pain.

"I'm pregnant, Dryden. Allen and I…"

The proclamation alone was enough, but the mention of Allen… _Allen and I…_

Sensing the tension in her husband's limbs, Millerna pressed on, not giving him the opportunity to speak until she had said all that she needed. "I didn't want to tell you because I knew it would cause you pain. I thought it would be better if you thought the child was yours. I wanted you to think it was yours. I didn't want to hurt you."

"So that's it…" Dryden was surprised at his own clam. The more logical recesses of his mind told him it was probably shock. He would feel it later. But now, Millerna was of more importance.

He smiled. He pet her hair. He made soft, shushing sounds against her ear. He did all those husbandly things that men did to comfort their wives. He whispered words of reassurance, though they seemed all together hollow. "No one will know." Slowly he drew back, tilting her chin up so she could see his smile and be reassured by it. Then he bent slowly to kiss her forehead. "We have been sleeping together every night for the past year. The baby is mine and it could never be said otherwise. I will not allow such rumors about my wife."

He bent again, cradling her in his arms and carrying her the short distance towards the bed. There, he gently laid her atop the mattress and tucked the blankets carefully around her. One hand smoothed her hair, pet her cheek, lingered for a moment longer than it should have. "Don't worry, my love. Rest. Things will all be right in the morning."

And he left here like that, not giving her time to protest or stop him. He took up the blanket he'd left at the foot of the bed and fled the room with all the dignified haste he could manage. The door was closed behind him and he remained there, hovering for a moment, his hand resting against the cold wood. "No one will know. I swear it."

* * *

So, this was the first big plot twist. Hopefully nobody thought it was too lame or cliche. Of course, what's a fic without a little drama?

What'd you guys think?

-sor


	10. Part 1 Chapter 8

I never realized there was so much Allen hate out there! Now I feel bad for the poor guy. Maybe I can manage eventually to change your minds.

Nothing much else to say here. Feedback is very much valued! Enjoy the chapter. More to add at the end.

-sor

* * *

**Chapter 8**

How ridiculous!

Why should Allen Schezar be allowed to ride off away from his duties and hear nothing about it? If Baedan had decided on a whim to leave the palace grounds on a night he was expected on duty for supper, he would have been dismissed in an instant. But not Allen Schezar. No. Allen could do whatever the hell he pleased. It was one thing when the older knight's transgressions were only an annoyance, but when Baedan had to be called in from his night off to replace the bastard… That was crossing the line.

Most of the nobles retired early that evening, thankfully, and it left Baedan with a few free hours before he would have to turn in himself. He'd not been asked to return to his duties outside the conference room and he was secretly grateful for that little bit of good fortune. Even if people whispered about his little fainting spell, at least it saved him from standing outside a closed door for hours on end.

And from having to look at those awful Madoushi…

Instead, he'd been delegated the duty of playing the part of a pretty decoration at mealtimes. That much he could handle, at least. Meals weren't as boring to watch as empty hallways. But even so, he didn't relish the idea of being called in from his one night off to replace His Excellency Allen-I-Can-Do-Whatever-I-Want-Because-I'm-Sleeping-With-The-Queen Schezar.

The pavilion was empty save for a few scattered servants cleaning up after the evening's outdoor refreshments, leaving Baedan alone with another of the knights, a young man only a year older than he by the name of Gerard. The two of them had little in common aside from a privileged background and their position as knights. Though both did share quite the similar opinion of a certain over-privileged knight.

Both boys stood half leaning against one of the stone walls that ringed the pavilion, separating it from the gardens beyond. Gerard stood with one foot braced on the stones, leaning forward with a bold grin on his face. "I heard he wasn't the least bit 'ill' this morning. He was on duty until the afternoon break and then he vanished."

"One of the girls from the kitchen, you remember little Anne with the blonde hair?" Baedan leaned in a little closer, though he didn't lower his voice a bit. Maybe it was from the one too many glasses of wine he'd consumed that evening. Really, they weren't supposed to drink on duty, but it was a rule seldom followed, especially by the knights sent to attend the after supper parties. "Well, little Anne said that she saw Allen slip off into the Queen's personal gardens as soon as the meetings concluded upstairs. According to her, the gardens weren't exactly empty."

In response, Gerard made a rather vulgar motion with one of his hands that sent both boys into fits of laughter. It took a moment before Baedan could form the words to continue. "The servants on the other side of the hedge claimed to hear rustling bushes. What do you suppose that means, eh?"

"I think it means it's none of your business."

Laughter ceased as both young knights looked up with a start. Baedan felt faint.

"Celena! I didn't hear you… I mean, I didn't see you there and…" Much to Baedan's dark amusement, he noted Gerard was taking a few steps back, capitalizing on the fact that Celena Schezar's anger was focused one hundred percent on Baedan. He couldn't blame his friend for wanting to escape, even if the disloyalty was more than a bit displeasing. He would have run from the fury in Celena's eyes, too. Fury directed fully at him.

"Obviously you didn't." The girl seemed content to let Gerard escape, even going so far as to make a sharp shooing motion towards the other knight. Taking his cue, Gerard fled for the palace, cheeks burning.

Baedan was left with no allies and only one choice… to try and dig himself out of this hole. "Celena, I know he's your brother but… but he stuck me with his duty tonight! This isn't the first time he's just run off and forced one of us to cover his slack. It's just not fair that since he's… ah… It's just not fair."

His justification didn't seem to work. Celena only planted one hand firmly on her hip and advanced towards him, causing the knight to cower a bit against the stone wall. "And was it fair that Gavin had to take over for you when you _fainted_?"

Had his face not already been so red, it certainly would have been after such a comment, especially one spoken loud enough for the gathered servants to hear! Even if news of his fainting spell had spread throughout the city in a matter of hours, there was still the off chance that there was at least someone who remained ignorant. "I did not faint! I just… felt sick." In fact, he felt sick right now. Sick and a bit dizzy.

"You felt sick. Just like onii-sama felt sick tonight." Celena took another step closer, crossing her arms over her chest and looking just as smug as can be. She knew she was winning this argument.

But Baedan was stubborn. He wasn't about to let her win by bringing up pointless embarrassing moments. "That's not the same! Not at all! Your brother wasn't sick. He was tired from spending all day romping in the bushes with the Queen!"

He braced himself for her heated response, but when nothing came he ventured a slow glance to the young woman. Celena stood, arms crossed, face contorted in a mask of utter fury. He only glimpsed this for a moment, though, before stars appeared in his vision. It took another moment for him to realize he'd been slapped, but it only hit him as he watched her retreating form as it made for the palace.

She hadn't struck him so hard, though his cheek would no doubt be an angry red for some time, yet the blow made him dizzy. In fact, he felt faint. He had a vague memory of one of the servants moving towards him, shouting something back the way he had come, but the image was lost when blackness claimed him.

All he could think was… _not again. How will I ever live this down?_

xxxx

Gaddes was of the very strong opinion that being Allen Schezar's friend should come with a bonus to his pay.

Despite his better judgment, despite common sense or decency, despite any amount of logic, Gaddes found himself following one rather determined knight through the bushes in the middle of the night. He'd already offered what feeble protests he could muster when Allen woke him from a rather pleasant dream to drag him along on this ridiculous adventure in chivalry. Allen was determined, though, and no amount of protest from his right hand man would steer him away from this fairly idiotic course.

Allen was going to play the romantic hero and climb Millerna Aston Fassa's balcony.

He'd come in fresh from his ride at some ungodly hour and insisted Gaddes dress quickly and come with him. He needed a lookout to be sure the night patrols didn't thwart his attempts at high romance. While Gaddes had dressed, Allen went about the very serious process of combing his hair, brushing the dirt and horse hair from his clothing, and finally donning a dark cloak. What better to play at espionage in than black cloaks.

This was all so ridiculous. If his mind hadn't been so fogged by sleep, Gaddes was sure he wouldn't have come along at all.

Now, as the dark clad pair slipped though the garden bushes just below the royal balcony, he really began to have second thoughts. "Boss, are you sure about this? You're going to wake her up and upset her… and what if Dryden hears you! He's liable to throw you back over the balcony before you have a chance to beg him not to."

"Dryden won't hear me. He sleeps like the dead. She told me it was like sleeping next to a sack of potatoes."

"Well that's all well and good, but…" He was cut off by a sharp gesture from the knight as he finally found the point at which he would climb. Lattice work covered the wall, stretching all the way to the slanted roof. Gaddes couldn't help but roll his eyes at the convenience of it. Were palaces designed now to accommodate valiant young knights climbing their lovers' balconies?

"Wait here," Allen whispered, as if Gaddes had been under the impression he'd be visiting Millerna right along with him. "If you see anything, give the signal."

With a resigned sigh and a sleepy, half salute, Gaddes nodded. "Right, Boss."

xxxx

When he had left Millerna for the evening, Dryden found himself moving as if in a daze. He'd gone about spreading the blankets over the sofa, his limbs moving out of familiarity for the task rather than conscious thought and when the task was completed he took no notice. His limbs felt heavy. His head felt worse, like he was attempting to grasp at things in a thick fog. He'd known of the affair but he hadn't expected such a development.

He'd made some attempt at sleep that night, but it evaded him easily. His mind was too full. Even after the news had been given time to sink in, it was still beyond belief. She was pregnant. There was going to be a baby and this baby would call him father. At least, he assumed it would. To do otherwise would be to admit to the affair and thus tarnish the integrity of the entire country. How difficult things were when politics were involved.

Before turning in, he'd opened the windows, letting in the cool evening air along with the soothing noises of nighttime birds and insects. It wasn't long until he lay half dozing, staring at the dark shadows on the ceiling, cast by moonlight against the trees. The shapes were mesmerizing. He attempted to pick out images among them. The one near the corner somewhat resembled a great merchant ship… or maybe that was just a wishful imagination. He had been longing for the old days far more frequently.

As thoughts wandered, Dryden thought he could hear the faint creaking of wood, echoing the crickets. How strange…

It wasn't until a few moments later he heard footsteps on the balcony that he realized what the noise must have been. Someone had climbed the lattice! The footsteps moved quickly, yet softly into the adjoining bedroom and for an instant, Dryden was caught in a daze. Had someone just gone into Millerna's room?

When the realization hit him, he was off the sofa like a shot, striding quickly towards the bedroom door that separated them. On the verge of opening it, though, he paused. He'd heard a voice, a near whisper but still, hadn't it said her name?

Suspicions were confirmed moments later by Millerna's less than quiet response.

"Allen! What are you doing here?"

Allen, huh? Rather than charging to Millerna's rescue, Dryden remained on his side of the door, ear lightly pressed against the wood. Perhaps it was wrong to snoop, but he was fairly sure this conversation had quite a bit to do with him. Besides, he wanted to hear just what Allen had to say.

There was a long stretch of silence, though, during which Dryden imagined they must be greeting each other more fully. Just the thought of it caused bile to rise in his throat. Even after what she'd done to him, she would still kiss and embrace Allen only hours later. She really must have cared nothing for him at all.

When the voices started again, they were softer, though not whispered. At times, Dryden was forced to strain to hear.

"Oh, Allen. I was afraid you wouldn't come back. Gaddes said you were upset. When you hadn't come back in time for supper, I was afraid you'd fled."

The knight was silent for a moment before he replied, sounding much more serious than Dryden had heard him in some time. "I didn't want you to worry." There was some noise, as if he wanted to say more, but was having difficultly finding the words.

In the momentary silence, Millerna spoke up, not giving Allen the chance to say what he had obviously come to say. "It's all right. You're back now. I don't know what I would do if you'd gone away. Dryden is so angry with me…"

On the other side of the door, Dryden made a soft noise of surprise. She thought he was mad at her? Had he sounded that angry?

Allen seemed momentarily pushed off course. "He's angry with you?" A faint growl slipping into the knight's voice, likely unnoticed by either lover, but quite easily picked up by Dryden. "What did he say to you?"

Millerna hesitated and again there was silence. Then, rather than go into the sordid details of their argument, she merely replied, "He said he won't tell anyone."

Silence again.

"Good."

"Are you sure, Allen? If you want to… Well, it is your baby, too, after all! You are the father. You have every right to say so! It doesn't have to be like Chid again. I won't hide the truth no matter what people might say!"

It seemed as if Millerna would have gone on had she not been silenced by one harsh word from the knight. "Enough." There was no anger in his tone, but a sad resignation. He had no intention of claiming this child.

Silence again.

This time, though, it was Allen who broke it. "I came to tell you that I'm requesting transfer back to the borders. I don't care where. I need to be out of Palas for a while." Then came a noise that sounded as if Millerna had attempted a protest but was cut off. "I have to do this, Millerna. I need this. And I think it would be easier for both of us if I'm just gone. And better for the child. This baby doesn't need Allen Schezar."

"But I need you, Allen."

"No." The knight's tone had turned almost venomous. "No. I'm going. I came to say goodbye to you because I won't have another chance. The sooner I'm gone, the better. That way you can announce the baby and no one will think of me. I'll be gone. There will be nothing to connect me to that child."

"But…" Her voice cracked, on the verge of tears. "You can't go, Allen. I love you. I'll follow you, I swear it!"

"Not this time, Millerna. You're a queen now and I won't have you abandoning your duties here. This is my country, too, and I won't have it fall to ruin because I'm selfish. Or because you're selfish."

Millerna was taken aback by his words, yet finally she ceased to protest. There followed more words that Dryden was unable to hear. Whispered words of love, no doubt. Lovers' goodbyes.

Slowly he stepped away from the door, not wishing to intrude on those final moments shared by lovers. Things had worked out in his favor. He couldn't ask for more. Let them have their time alone.

xxxx

Gaddes wasn't sure how long he'd been dozing, but he was awakened with a start at the sound of creaking lattice above him. He rubbed at his eyes and judging by the lack of stars and the first hints of dawn, he'd been asleep for hours at least.

Sleep heavy eyes turned upward towards the balcony just in time to see Allen descend the final few feet of lattice and land noiselessly in the garden. He said nothing and judging by his expression, Gaddes figured it would be best for his health should he not address the knight just yet. He simply fell into step behind Allen, studying the man with a tiny frown.

Things must have gone as planned.

* * *

So all along the way, I've been dropping a few subtle hints here and there about Baedan. I'm wondering if anyone has caught on yet. I'd love to hear some theories cause there's a big reveal coming up soon. Tell me what you're thinking! 


	11. Part 1 Chapter 9

Sorry it's taken me so long to update. I managed to get wrapped up in my other fic and didn't realize it had been so long. I'll saya bit more at the end, but for now I'll just leave you to read. Enjoy and please continue to leave feedback!

-sor

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 9**

_Fire. Smoke. Blood. _

_He could feel the heat from the fire behind him, the fire from his burning melef. He was afraid it might explode and so he limped as quickly as possible away from the wreckage. He could practically feel the eyes of the other melef pilot watching him and as he fled, he waited for the blow to fall. He'd been no match for Escaflowne. Not in that damaged sluggish melef of his. He'd had no hope to begin with, even with the stealth cloak._

_The alley was dark. It was safe. The soldiers were too busy going after Escaflowne to worry about one wounded Zaibach soldier. He watched them run past._

"_I can't escape hurt like this…"_

_Despair. He'd let down Zaibach. He'd let down his father, his family. Who was he trying to fool, though? What really upset him was that he'd let down… The name floated on the edge of memory. It was there, if only he could reach out and grasp it._

"_What am I going to do?"_

_It was overwhelming. The smell. Clean air turned putrid. He tried to take a breath, but something was preventing it. Something around his throat. Hands… a pair of cold, clammy hands, fingers like brittle bone yet strong as steel. He could feel the strength in them. Could not dislodge them. _

_He struggled. He flailed. He fought. _

_Those hands did not falter. The world grew darker…_

"Dilandau-sama!"

The room was dark. It was too dark. He was in a soft bed nestled against fluffy, goose feather pillows, not laid out against cold, stone walls. There was no pain in his leg, no fire, no smoke, no death. He was in the palace. He was in his rooms, the shades drawn to allow him rest.

He remembered everything.

Slowly he sat up, one hand grasping his aching head. It was a trial to think around the pain, but as his vision became more focused and his thoughts clearer, he began to recall more. He'd been a prisoner. One of those priests had come to him.

"Folken-sama sent you." The words were whispered with a deep reverence. Reverence because he remembered Folken-sama. Not from the records kept of the war two years ago, but an actual memory. He'd seen Strategos Folken. He'd known how the man operated and he'd known right away he would send someone.

If only going back hadn't meant facing Dilandau-sama's disappointment. His fury. He'd failed. How could he have gone back to being a Dragonslayer after getting captured so easily by Allen Schezar and his band of nitwits?

Dilandau-sama! He'd forgotten Dilandau-sama. The thought nearly brought tears to his eyes. The bed creaked beneath him as he rose, moving carefully to the window where he would pull the shades open. It was morning. The gulls flew overhead from atop the palace down into the harbor. The harbor… Dilandau-sama had burned the harbor once. He remembered. Not two days before…

Before Freid. He remembered Freid clear as day. That priest and his smug looks as he'd forced him into a false hypnosis. How he'd lied to the Duke of Freid and pointed the finger at Allen Schezar.

He had to laugh. No wonder he hated Allen. The man was his enemy. It was Allen Schezar's fault he'd been captured. If he hadn't shown up, the dragon would have been theirs and Dilandau-sama would have had his revenge. He would have returned to Zaibach a hero with the rest of the Dragonslayers. He wouldn't have been just his father's son anymore. He would have been honored in his own right.

Miguel Lavariel: Hero of Zaibach.

But he shouldn't dwell on things that couldn't be changed. Years had passed since then and that Zaibach didn't even exist anymore. Now it was a pathetic excuse for a military power, controlled by those damn Madoushi and their weak cohorts. The proud, noble military tradition that he'd been raised on was in ashes, his father and his allies reduced to nothing. He couldn't imagine how Rafael Lavariel was dealing with defeat. He'd never taken defeat well.

If he was even alive.

The possibility that his father might be dead hit Miguel like a jolt. It was unlikely, of course, but still possible. The Zaibach delegation would know but he couldn't very well knock on the Madoushi's door and inquire about Rafael Lavariel without drawing unwanted attention. If they, or anyone else where to find out who he was, he'd be as good as dead. Zaibach would call him traitor and Asturia would call him spy.

He was neither traitor nor spy, but what was he? He couldn't very well call himself a knight! He wasn't this boy Baedan they all thought he was. Or was he? He certainly had been for the past two years. He could even say he had affections for his… for Baedan's parents. They were good people, if a bit snobby as Asturians tended to be. He couldn't break their fragile hearts and tell them their beloved son was really a former soldier from Zaibach. A Dragonslayer, no less! Dilandau-sama was infamous in Asturia.

So what, then, could he do? The logical coarse was to simply go on with the façade that he was Baedan Trevelian and let the Asturians be none the wiser. He had a good life here. He was well liked among the soldiers and nobles alike. He was popular with the ladies. Celena certainly seemed fond of him. Or at least she had been until he'd been a fool and insulted her brother.

Allen Schezar… The mere thought of the man sent a cold shiver down his spine. That bastard had ruined everything for Dilandau-sama. It was Allen Schezar's fault he was captured and it was Allen Schezar's bastard crew of mercenaries that taunted him. He _hated_ Allen Schezar!

It would serve Allen Schezar right if he did report directly to the Zaibach delegation! Then that damn bastard wouldn't be so smug!

But reporting to Zaibach meant reporting to the Madoushi. He hated the Madoushi almost as much as he hated Allen. The Madoushi had ruined Zaibach! They'd taken a proud military nation and turned it into a country of whining scientist types who didn't like to do their own dirty work. At one time, he'd been proud to be a member of Zaibach's military, the strongest in the world! Now that military was laughable. Nearly disbanded! He could only imagine how his father felt about such a humiliation.

His father who had been so proud of his family's military history… a history that had died when his only son never came home.

xxxx

"_The Vione, Miguel! The Strategos' own ship!" Rafael Lavariel stood in the doorway, his son's orders clutched in one hand. "An elite unit on the most important ship in the fleet!" He laughed a bit, holding the papers tightly, refusing even to allow Miguel to lay a hand on them until he left for his posting._

_Thank heavens he was leaving within the hour. It was nice to know his father was proud, but the man's enthusiasm was about to drive his son absolutely insane. All his life he'd been tugged this way and that, raised every inch the military brat. He'd learned to hold a sword when he was five and had been practicing all his life under the training of the best tutors money could buy. Even General Adelphos had given him a bit of attention due to his father's endless babbling. 'My boy is the greatest young swordsman on Gaea. My boy's prowess in a guymelef is unmatched. My boy this. My boy that.'_

_Hell, he wasn't Miguel. He was Lavariel's boy!_

_He'd been waiting all his life to prove himself… to prove to Zaibach that he was more than just a kid with an influential father. He was Miguel Lavariel, not some clone of Rafael Lavariel._

_He glanced at his father's reflection in the mirror where he stood, adjusting the final touches of his uniform. Only nineteen had been made. A unique uniform for a group of elite young men. It made him stand out. He had to admit he liked it very much. "Don't worry so much, father. You know I'll make you proud."_

"_I should hope so!" General Lavariel strode forward to press the orders into his son's gloved hand. "I won't have you embarrass me, Miguel. This is your chance to show them that all I've said about you is true. I expect perfection. Do you understand, soldier?"_

_Fingers closed firmly around his orders and he battled the urge to crumple them and throw them back in his father's face. Accepted to an elite unit and the man still wasn't even a bit proud of him. Disappointment was masked, however, as he responded in the only way his father would allow. Despite the fact that his uniform jacket was not fully fastened and his sword belt still lay on the sofa, Miguel snapped to a quick attention, sharply saluting the reflection in the mirror. "Understood, sir!"_

_That, at least, seemed to please the general and he placed a hand on his son's shoulder for the briefest moment before turning away to march out the door and leave Miguel to his uniform._

_Only when he heard the door closer did the boy's posture relax and only then did he allow himself to breath again. The orders clenched in his fist were carefully uncrumpled and placed on the table with the other papers he'd need. Military records, medical records, things that would go into his files on the Vione. So that was that. The pressure was on. He had to do well in this or his father would never forgive him._

"_Don't worry so much about the old blowhard, oniichan." _

_Miguel looked up from the side table, startled by the unexpected voice. "Dulcea, don't sneak up on me like that!" Despite his words, though, he welcomed his sister with open arms, accepting her warm embrace, even lifting her a few inches off the ground. _

_Dulcea Lavariel was only a year younger than her brother and already she was attracting her fair share of suitors. She had her brother's blue eyes, but her mother's golden curls and the sweetest disposition in all of Zaibach. She was a bit of a tomboy, though she kept it hidden well behind her lacy dresses and rosy cheeks. When they were children, Miguel had tutored her in secret, teaching her every inch of what he learned with his swordmaster. Of course, their father never knew. He would have thrown a fit had he known his pretty little daughter was gallivanting around through the property in a pair of her brother's old breaches and wielding a wooden sword._

"_Well don't you look handsome?" As soon as her feet touched solid ground again, Dulcea began the serious task of fastening the last few clasps of Miguel's jacket. When she finished, she let her hands slide up his face where they pushed a few uncooperative strands of hair out of his eyes. "You really should have gotten a trim, you know. Do you think the Strategos will like having scruffy soldiers on his ship?"_

_With a bit of a laugh, he reached up to undo her work, letting those strands fall right into his eyes again. "Come on now, he doesn't care." _

_Rather than laugh with him, though, she simply let her hands fall to his armored shoulders, gripping the blue plating in her delicate palms. "You should look nice, Miguel. Lavariel's boy wouldn't have messy hair." Her attempt at humor fell short, though, when her soft voice cracked and the first hint of tears became visible in her eyes._

"_Hey, now… Dulcea…" He hadn't expected this. He'd really only stopped to think about his father's reaction to his placing. Usually at his age he'd remain in training for at least another year. This placement had been so unexpected that he hadn't even stopped to think about Dulcea. "Don't worry about me." He lifted a hand, leather clad fingers brushing a tear from her cheek. "Nothing's going to happen."_

"_But you don't know that!" The sudden outpouring of emotion came as a shock and when she flung her arms around his neck, he was frozen for a time. Then slowly he wound his arms around her waist, giving her a reassuring squeeze. Still, it didn't silence her tears. "You're only fifteen, Miguel. You shouldn't be out there fighting. Why can't they send the more experienced soldiers? Why do you have to go fight?"_

"_Dulcea…" Slowly one hand rose to pet at her hair while his other hand gave her shoulders a gentle push, prying them far enough apart so he could look her in the eye. "Zaibach needs the best soldiers for this mission. They can't fall back on the typical soldiers. They need raw talent and… they need me for this. I can't let Zaibach down."_

_She seemed to understand, though it did little to dry her tears. Still, she nodded and smiled, just like he'd hoped she would, and flung her arms around him once more for a firm hug. Finally, when she released him, she seemed no worse for the wear, even reaching up to straighten his hair one last time. "Now, don't forget your sword, Miguel. Can't have Lavariel's boy showing up without his sword. What would your commander think?"_

xxxx

That had been the last time he'd seen Dulcea. He'd received letters, of course. She would tell him how boring things had been at home without him. She would lament the loss of her swordsmanship lessons. She would tell him all about their father and his proud strutting. It was a welcome thing to laugh a bit to ease the homesickness. He'd only written back once, though, to tell her about the Dragonslayers and Dilandau-sama. He didn't say much, yet she was still able to judge from the tone of his writing the great admiration he had for his commander.

He'd written about Gatti, detailing the other boy's prowess in a melef and his steadfast dedication to the team. He'd written about quiet, seemingly fragile Shesta and his little cherub's face, a gentle boy who could still fight like a devil. He even wrote about arrogant, insufferable Dallet whom he enjoyed tormenting. Of course, he made himself out to be the hero in his letters and poor Dallet came off quite a bit worse than even he had intended. Maybe he shouldn't have been such an ass.

What did it matter, though? Dallet was dead now, just like the rest of them. Killed by Van Fanel. Dilandau-sama killed by Van Fanel.

His focus returned to the view from the window, pulling the shades wider to gaze down at the morning light reflection off the fountains littered among the multitude of courtyards and gardens. Asturian extravagance. It was ridiculous that one country should have so much when all the rest had so little. Why should Asturia control the waterways and trade? Why should men like Dryden Fassa continue to get richer while Zaibach starved?

The youth's fist clenched in his expensive curtains. "Damn you, Asturia. I hate you." He gave a firm tug, pulling the extravagant cloth down to the floor with a sharp rip. "And I hate you, Van Fanel."

* * *

Did anyone guess? Or were my hints too subtle? Or, more importantly, is my latest twist too stupid? Too confusing? Too anything? I realize I'm pushing the boundaries of the cannon here, but I don't think I've stepped out of bounds. And I will say, this really is the only instance in which I'm pushing things so I'd love to hear some feedback. Did I push too far?

-sor


	12. Part 1 Chapter 10

It's been a very long time since I've updated this fic due to work and other distractions, not to mention other fics. It's pretty sad, too, since this chapter has been ready to be posted for at least a few months. So I apologize for the long wait for an update. To make up for it, I give you one of my favorite chapters.

Enjoy! And as always, please read and review. I love hearing from everyone!

Thanks,

Sora

* * *

**Chapter 10**

"Quiet, Gaddes! I can't hear them if you're over there breathing so loud!"

Gaddes glanced skeptically at the young lady who stood, ear pressed to the closed double doors that led to Dryden Fassa's private study. Celena had been trying in vain for some time to pick up on the conversation within. Allen had disappeared behind those doors at least half an hour prior and she had spent much of that time fretting over just why her brother would intrude upon Dryden as he worked and more importantly, why he would drag her along for such a meeting if only to make her wait outside.

The soldier leaned back in his chair, eyes turned to the ceiling as the girl continued her attempts at catching what she could of the conversation. Gaddes knew why they were here, but he wasn't sure how to tell Celena. When she learned Allen wanted a transfer to the borders, it was sure to upset her, but Allen had demanded his silence, not trusting completely in Dryden to grant this favor. There was no need to upset Celena unnecessarily, he had reasoned.

Of course, Gaddes could see the wisdom in that, but if the girl did not still herself soon, he would be driven mad and tell her out of a simple desire to see her away from that door.

"They're talking about me!" The girl's tone was suddenly outraged as she turned away from the door, leveling Gaddes with an almost furious expression. It made the soldier wilt and attempt again to vanish within the velvet cushions of his chair. He knew very well she didn't like other people planning her life and with no one else present, he was about to be the unhappy recipient of her anger.

Thankfully, though, she was content for the moment to press her ear back to the door, straining to hear through the cracks, but failing.

Eventually, after the passing of at least another quarter of an hour, during which Gaddes had sunk lower and lower in his chair, he saw Celena stir from her post by the door. Gaddes straightened, watching her with a dark brow arched as she scampered away from her incriminating position and onto the sofa across from Gaddes, where she sat, hands planted delicately in her lap. The perfect lady.

When the doors opened, she glanced up as if she'd been doing nothing more than sitting patiently the entire time. What was worse, Allen seemed to fall for the act completely, taken in by her wide eyes and questioning expression. "Onii-sama? What's going on?"

Allen completely missed when Gaddes rolled his eyes.

Instead, the knight approached his sister, taking her hand and guiding her to her feet in one smooth, fluid motion. "Dryden and I have been discussing matters and he has graciously agreed to grant my request for a transfer out of Palas."

"Transfer out of Palas?" Celena repeated the words, her fair brows furrowed slightly. Already the wheels were turning in the girl's head, but she waited. "What does that mean, Onii-sama?"

"It means," Allen hesitated, glancing for a moment at his trusted friend, causing Gaddes to glance away and pretend he'd been looking elsewhere the entire time. He'd agreed to wait with Celena, but had never said a word about helping Allen break the news. That was all in his hands. Gaddes didn't want to encounter Celena's wrath any more than her brother did.

"Well, what it means is that we'll be leaving within the week. I'll be overseeing the garrison at Zandira, on the Basram border. It's a large town, a trade center. It's not Palas, but it's not one of the rural forts, either. In fact, from what I've heard it's a favored weekend spot for nobility from Asturia and Basram alike." Allen was doing everything he could to make the place sound pleasant, but it was obvious from his tone that he didn't much like the idea of overseeing a bunch of lazy guardsmen at a trade hub that specialized in metals, ores, and weaponry. Basram wasn't known for exporting much else. Nothing that a lady would find interesting….

As expected, Celena did not react well to the news. "You requested a transfer and you didn't even ask me first?" That well-behaved young lady vanished in an instant as one hand was planted firmly on her hip. "What if I don't want to leave Palas? What if I like it here?"

The sudden change in demeanor gave Allen pause and the knight regarded his sister with momentary surprise. However, his resolve strengthened anew and he seemed ready to put his foot down. Gaddes had seen him like this before on the rare occasions he was pushed far enough and he knew things were on the verge of becoming very messy. Of course, he could attempt to defuse the situation. Or he could sit back and maintain his current state of health.

"Now, Celena, don't be unreasonable. I can't very well leave you here by yourself." Allen had bitten back his irritation for now and was doing his very best to speak in a measured, caring tone, but Celena would have none of it. She knew him well enough to tell when he was putting on airs.

"By myself? Onii-sama, I'm not a child! I can very well take care of myself. Besides," The girl's demeanor shifted yet again, hostility fading in favor of a bright smile. She wasted no time, darting past Allen to where Dryden had been waiting, only paying half a mind to the conversation. Of course, all that changed when Celena latched herself firmly onto the merchant's arm. "Dryden will be here to take care of me, won't you Dryden?"

Dryden hadn't the faintest idea of what she meant, but he smiled nonetheless and shrugged his broad shoulders. "Of course I will." It was obvious to all of them that Dryden knew nothing of what he'd agreed to, but it was the foothold Celena had needed. How could Allen refuse her now that she had the acting king of Asturia on her side? Plus, the girl had put on her most innocent face, the face she wore when attempting to weasel something out of Allen. The face that, more often than not, worked like a charm.

Allen knew that face well, but he was hardly immune. The worst part was, he knew damn well she was manipulating him and later he would no doubt spend at least an hour furious at himself for giving in yet again. Gaddes made plans to be elsewhere for the rest of the evening.

"Celena…" It had already begun. Allen was hesitating now, losing his strong conviction. It was only a matter of time before he gave in. And like the little predator she was, Celena took full advantage.

"I'll be able to stay here in the palace where nothing bad can happen and I'll be able to make sure things at the house are taken care of, too. And I'll write you every week. If anything at all happens, you'll know." She detached herself from Dryden's arm, noting that he was unlikely to speak up in her defense, mostly due to the far off look that had returned to his eyes. Besides, it was better to try and soothe Allen's anger just a bit if she were to be assured of getting her way and latching on to his rival was hardly the way to do so.

Allen spared one last, almost pleading glance in Gaddes' direction, but when it was skillfully avoided, he was left with only himself to rely on. The knight's fists clenched for a moment before shoulders grew slack and he released a defeated sigh. "As you wish, Celena. You can stay under the condition that you remain in the palace. Don't go wandering off to the house by yourself. It's a long way." He hesitated for another moment, sparing a brief glance for the still distracted Dryden. "He'll let me know if you break the rules. He owes me that much, at least."

This caught Dryden's attention, though it prompted only a sharp, cheerful laugh. "Certainly, Allen. Though I never considered our debts such an important matter. After all, you were the one who always got the better deal."

Still attempting to shrink into the couch, Gaddes pressed his palm firmly against his forehead. All this innuendo was giving him a splitting headache.

Allen merely glared for the uncomfortable span of a few seconds before turning to the door, signaling that Gaddes should follow along. "I'll see to the particulars of sending her belongings to the palace. Good day, Dryden."

"Good day, indeed!" The merchant seemed more cheerful than he had in quite some time. "Don't you worry your head about anything. I know how to take care of women."

For an instant it seemed as if Allen were prepared to turn and deal the man a blow and Gaddes, who had begun to follow the knight into the hallway, braced himself to potentially act as a buffer between the two. Two grown men hurling masked insults at one another when they knew damn well everyone in the room knew what they were talking about. As far as Gaddes was concerned, this transfer could not come at a better time, with the entire palace on the verge of explosion. It was best to get Allen away where he could have some time to think things through and hopefully come to terms with the circumstances of a second failed love affair. "Oi, boss. We should go tell the guys before we get to all that packing. They'll be glad to get out of here."

Talk of the men softened Allen's anger enough to allow Gaddes to give him a gentle push into the hallway and pull the door shut behind them. "Come on, Boss. Let's go get a drink."

xxxx

Zandira was a bustling port city, resting on the Enil Delta where the river poured into the central Gaean Sea. The city had been a trade center for many generations, as it not only brought ships to port, but was also a staging post to send further trading ships down the river into the Basram interior. The river was the life of Basram trade. It was a difficult matter to send caravans on foot over the deserts into Egzardia and in recent years, trade with Freid had been sternly regulated through Asturia.

Certainly there were other rivers and other ports in Basram, but location made Zandira the choice of nearly all of the merchant fleets. It was the last stop for merchant ships heading into Godashim in Freid and the first stop coming out, leaving many Freidan goods to fall directly into the hands of Asturia.

Generations ago, Zandira had been taken by force in the great expansion of Asturian influence. Once the country had cemented itself firmly on both coasts in the central span of the sea, they began to expand both north and south, taking port city after port city and establishing the strongest trade relations known to Gaea. Of all the southern nations, only Freid retained its own coastline, thanks in great part to its proximity to the capital, Godashim.

Asturia had maintained control of the coast, building fortified cities around the major coastal areas. Small fishing villages and towns were left to their own devices, their citizens Basrami in all but name. If the coastline was too rocky for ships to dock, Asturia left it to the jurisdiction of the former country, but officially claimed the land to prevent others from protesting their presence in the ports. After all, Asturia had every right to be on Asturian soil.

Like any trade center, the presence of the Fassa family was a given. In recent years, the family had begun to branch out, setting up not only their central office in Palas, but also a number of remote offices up and down the central sea, including posts in Freid. Decades ago when Meidan Fassa fell into favor with the Astons, these trade centers were given official royal power over trade and became not only offices, but warehouses and regulators.

Zandira was unofficially lorded over by Artem Fassa, a Freidan cousin of the Asturian heir, Dryden, who maintained an iron grip on his control. He regulated trade, deciding which goods went into the interior and which went back to the capital. Rumors were whispered that he had deals under the table with half a dozen Basram nobles and was doing unofficial business without regard to the treaties between nations, dealing in a variety of forbidden goods from weaponry to rare herbs.

Some called it money grubbing, but others saw it in a more positive light. It was no ill thing for the Fassas to wish to maintain friendly relations with an increasingly unpleasant Basram. Plus, it kept the noble families from rebelling against Asturian coastal rule and attempting to take the ports back. Still, relations between countries were awkward at best and Zandira was seething with ill will. Basrami and Asturian refused to speak, even in passing in the streets. Brawls were commonplace among the Asturian sailors and the Basrami boatman and the transfer of goods from seafaring ship to river vessel had to be lorded over by an Asturian military presence.

This was the city to which Allen Schezar had been assigned. The former magistrates had done little, if anything to ease the tensions and reports from the merchants' league flooded in daily demanding something be done. Or at least, that was how Dryden had explained things when he'd met with the knight to give orders.

"_Don't stick your nose in too quickly, Allen. Artem won't take kindly to you being there, despite my assurances. He likes to think himself powerful. Take your time and observe and send me word once you get a decent feel for the conflicts. And… keep an eye on my cousin. He's even more underhanded than the old man, I hate to say."_

So Allen had waited. Three months he'd waited, moderately policing the streets, breaking up brawls where he could, but keeping himself and his men firmly out of Artem Fassa's way.

His men, at least, seemed to feel more comfortable here, even with the open conflict in the streets. Much of the Asturian compliment in Zandira was composed of mercenaries, men much like his crew. They weren't career soldiers and they were, sufficed to say, a bit more crude than the usual Palas units. Not that Allen thought ill of his men, but he did realize they felt more at home among men of their own standing. Career soldiers tended to look down their noses at mercenaries who were only employed for months at a time, able to come and go as they pleased. The soldiers claimed their less official counterparts had no loyalty, that they were simply greedy and traitorous, willing to turn on a dime for better pay, and maybe it was true for some, but not for Allen Schezar's men.

Most had been unable to join the Asturian army due to one thing or another, much of which had been completely out of their control. Teo had migrated west out of the Egzardian deserts and was still officially a foreigner and unable to serve. He'd had plans to wait out the five years it would take to earn his Asturian citizenship, but that had been years ago when he'd first come into Allen's service. As far as he knew now, Teo intended to continue under Allen's command indefinitely, suffering the meager wages in order to avoid a less pleasant posting with the Asturian garrisons. Pyle and Katz as well awaited their citizenship, both having traveled south from Chezario and Daedalus respectively.

Reeden, on the other hand, had never had plans to join the Asturian military. He'd often told the others that he simply couldn't stand the strict guidelines followed by the official army, the curfews and dress code, and to a larger degree, the regulations against loose relationships with women. Not that Reeden was dishonorable when it came to his relations with women, but he did enjoy the occasional romp between the sheets, as he liked to put it.

Gaddes, unlike the rest, had actually had formal military training. He'd spent nearly six months at a training facility outside of Palas until he was summarily dismissed three weeks before earning his commission. As it turned out, he'd applied under false pretenses, claiming a family name that was not his own, not only lying in his records, but maintaining a lie that would have prevented his entry into the military to begin with. Gaddes had no father and given Asturia's dedication to the family line, no man without proof of Asturian paternity could serve the royal family in an official capacity. Allen had never learned the details of the matter, but from what he understood, a rival student brought the information to light and so Gaddes was politely, but firmly asked to turn in his sword.

Despite all, Allen's scruffy little band had stuck with him even when the terms of their employment had expired. They had reenlisted time after time on the condition that they remain under his command and as far as Allen was concerned there were no men more deserving of being called soldiers of Asturia. None more loyal. None more trustworthy. Perhaps crude and unorthodox at times, but still the bravest men he had ever had the privilege to serve with. Even if Reeden, currently on his afternoon patrol, was making a nuisance of himself to the young lady who ran a textiles stall just beneath Allen's balcony.

He had been on the verge of speaking up in the poor girl's defense when he was quite literally beaten to the punch. Quite unexpectedly, Gaddes emerged from the lower levels of the base and without a word of warning, had given Reeden a firm smack to the back of his head. It was answered by a bit of a sheepish grin as Reeden lifted a hand to rub at the lump forming where the friendly blow had landed.

"Sorry, Sarge, I'll just get going then." With a touch of nervous laughter, Reeden bid the object of his attentions a quick farewell before taking off at an accelerated walk into the markets. No doubt he had another girl a few blocks down waiting for his daily visit, as well.

Meanwhile, Gaddes had leaned causally against the girl's stall where he proceeded to apologize for Reeden's obvious infatuation while attempting to hide his own obvious attention to the girl's cleavage. Perhaps Allen should have stopped him from committing the same obvious transgressions he'd just smacked Reeden for, but he refrained. After all, Reeden was known to have taken out half the girls in the city for drinks and supper but in the three plus years Allen had known him, he'd never seen Gaddes even ask a girl out. Of course, the Sergeant claimed to have seen his fair share of action with the opposite sex, but if he had, he'd kept it very well hidden from Allen and from the rest of the men, for that matter.

The knight finally left Gaddes to his flirting below and retreated from the balcony into his rooms, the only place in Zandira that afforded him even a hint of privacy. The rooms were spacious for a soldier's quarters, though smaller than what he'd gotten used to at his home in Palas. Still, there was room enough for a bed and a simple desk crafted in a rather expensive dark wood imported out of the forests of Fanelia. Papers lay strewn across it in quasi organized stacks, though Allen knew well enough he'd been getting lazy. A month ago the desk would have been in perfect order. He couldn't rightly explain why he'd let himself go in the past month, though he was sure it had something to do with his post. He felt oddly more content here. Perhaps it was that he felt useful again, like he had years ago in Castelo.

Or perhaps it was the distance from her that took some of the weight from his shoulders. He was causing her no trouble here.

Blue eyes flitted to the correspondence that lay open on the desk. It had come in that morning addressed to Allen Schezar rather than simply the commander of the Zandira garrison and marked with the royal seal. It was an odd thing to receive documents with the Aston family seal and know they came from Dryden. He had always used the Fassa seal before, but when King Aston had finally passed away little more than a month ago, he had begun to reserve his family seal for business matters only. He was king now, after all, in name as well as duty.

Strange indeed.

Unlike most of Dryden's letters, this one had been of a very personal nature and had arrived on the most recent Fassa merchant ship rather than with the official Asturian messengers. Once more, for what seemed like the thousandth time, Allen scooped the letter from his desk and read.

_Allen,_

_I know I am long overdue in giving you any word but, as I'm sure you're aware, things have been unusually hectic. They're making me dress up like a buffoon for the sake of a coronation, which I absolutely loathe. As always, no offense to the Asturian style of dress and ceremony, but I have a million better things to do than be fitted for royal robes and other such nonsense. Count yourself lucky to be far away, Knight of Heaven._

_Ah, but I'm going on about myself again. I suppose I'm falling victim to the latest Asturian fashion of talking of nothing but Dryden Fassa. Well, they want me to be more Asturian!_

_I'm sure you're hungry for a bit of news from home, but there is little to say. Celena is well, as always, though there are those who would worry me to death over her frequent visits with that Trevelian boy. But don't you worry about a thing, Allen. Millerna assures me the boy is an admirable knight from a noble line and she has voiced her approval._

_On a more official front, my father's merchants are still up in arms regarding our agreements with Zaibach and are demanding additional funds to make the trip into their trade hubs. Whatever the fools say, I am quite satisfied with our agreement with Zaibach and even more satisfied that I've been able to pass nearly two months without having to sit across a table from that Aldon. I've never met a more unpleasant fellow in all my days._

_I've received word from my last trade vessel that you've kept things well in hand and you have my deepest thanks. Still, my men noticed a good deal of tension in the harbor and market. Artem refuses to send records, claiming business is booming and he needs more scribes. See to it that he sends a report in his next correspondence even if you have to send Gaddes by with a few hundred soldiers. You stay away from him, though. He's afraid of your mercenaries but he seems to have no issue with snubbing the royal power I've placed on you. Look after yourself above all. If I loose money, well, it's only money._

_Millerna sends her best wishes and she prays for your safety, as do I. She wishes to inform you that all is well with her health and it is very probable no one suspects. We both wish you continued health and I cannot thank you enough for taking such a precarious post. Be wary, Allen Schezar, Knight of Heaven, for men will quarrel over money as quickly as over women and just as fiercely._

_Regards,_

_Dryden Fassa, King of Asturia_

He let the letter fall again to the table, shaking his head faintly at the merchant's words. So much for his hopes that Dryden would learn to act like a king before he became one. The man was still a damned celebrity.

Really though, despite Dryden's obsession with himself, the letter was kept close, if only for the few lines that spoke of her. Three months of separation had done its intended duty to dull the ache in his heart. He missed her, of course, but he didn't feel the need to be there always to care for her. And besides all that, he'd saved her the grief of having the child called the bastard offspring of a less than virtuous Knight of Heaven.

Allen had come to the slow conclusion after months of steady work and purpose, that he'd only been infatuated, just as she had, though his infatuation was inspired by her uncanny resemblance to Marlene in both appearance and nature. Truly, there had been times when he held Millerna that he allowed himself to be brought back years ago when he'd first taken Marlene in his arms and proclaimed his love with all the passion of youth.

He'd been so passionate then. What had happened to him? When had he lost that? Perhaps his passion had been what he really hoped to regain through his relationship with Millerna, that lost part of himself that had vanished when Marlene was sent to Freid. When she fell in love with her husband and forgot all about her knight.

What made things worse was that now that he was potentially ready to let go of Marlene, he'd found himself forever bound to the Aston line yet again. Another child fathered by him by another Asturian princess. This one, though, would not be away in distant Freid, but there under his nose, playing in the halls of the palace. He would see this child regularly and were it a son, it would eventually inherit the throne. All the while thinking Dryden was his father. All the while looking at Allen as nothing but a knight.

With an unhappy sigh, the knight stepped back out onto the balcony, distracting himself by returning to his observations of the market below, more specifically, of Gaddes' failed attempts at flirting. The Sergeant was fast earning himself a bit of good natured teasing for when he returned in the evening.

Gaddes' flirting was cut short though at the sound of shouting coming from the direction of the harbor. A moment later a thick cloud of black smoke rose from behind the many colored awnings that designated the market district. Then to the west, another column, then another to the east. In a matter of seconds, the entire harbor and market district had gone up in smoke.

Cries had gone up almost immediately from the population. Shouts of 'riot!' In an instant, people began to flee in all directions, others rushing towards the smoke clouds to join in the obvious brawl. It was chaos, pure and simple, and Allen was hard pressed to even discern what had gone on let alone find a solution that would stop the riot in its tracks. The fires were already spreading like mad into the residential district, marking the path of the mob towards the Fassa estates.

However, another tendril of men were forcing their way in from the harbors towards the Asturian military center, swords drawn to slay any who attempted to block their path. Below the balcony, Gaddes had ushered the girl quickly away, ordering her to flee to safety before he drew his sword, standing off against the oncoming mob, placing himself before the small side doors.

"Gaddes, fall back!" The mercenary below looked a bit surprised to hear orders from literally above, but he responded instantly, ducking inside the door. The sound of the wood firmly shutting was followed by the sound of the heavy steel bar falling across the door to seal it away from the crowds outside.

Allen had also retreated inside, darting to his desk to take up certain papers which were stuffed haphazardly into pockets. Already things looked bleak and he'd not even begun to organize a solution. He couldn't help but think in an instant of overwhelmed tension that Dryden had misplaced his trust.

Upon reaching the lower level, he found his men already at work barricading the doors and arming themselves at the windows with bows, though they chose their shots wisely, aiming to wound rather than to kill. Still, the mob seemed to multiply by the second, surging against the doors like an angry sea.

Allen had just taken up his sword when he found Gaddes at his side, panting a little from forcing the side door shut and holding it against the mob until it could be properly blockaded. "They're pushing in from all directions. I've sent men to the upper floors to keep them from climbing through the balcony windows, but we've been cut off from the barracks. The soldiers there are also sealed off from what I heard from the man that made it in. Patrols are still out and unaccounted for." There was more than a hint of worry in the man's voice as he had obviously thought the same thing as Allen. Reeden and Kio had been on patrol.

"What about the melef storehouse?" He wasn't sure why he'd asked. He couldn't very well turn Scherazade against the people. They had nothing but swords and fists. Still, the Crusade was also stored with the melefs and that was a somewhat better option.

"Still sealed off. A man just came through the underground tunnels to report that he'd sealed the doors against the rioters. Thankfully before they could get their hands on any melefs."

Their conversation was interrupted by a dull boom against the main doors and a shout from a soldier at the window. "Sir, they're using the posts from the market tents to attempt to break down the doors!"

"Damn." Allen snarled, shaking his head. Things were fast becoming out of hand! "Gaddes, prep the Crusade. We'll go out and try to make sense out of this mess."

Gaddes snapped off a sharp attention before turning on his heel to sprint into the underground tunnels, footsteps echoing behind. He had only just vanished when the thud against the door grew louder, producing a crack down the center of the wood. Allen stood a bit straighter, drawing his sword. "Form columns and attempt to hold them off. We have the advantage." The door opened into a narrow entryway where half a dozen men could hold off an army if they had to.

They may yet have to.

Minutes passed like hours and the men grew nervous waiting for the deafening crack that would surely come when the door fell. When it occurred, it was as if thunder had struck the fortress, letting loose a storm of bodies into their midst, pouring through the shattered door in endless waves of metal and blood.


	13. Part 2 Chapter 1

I know I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but sorry for the long break between chapters. Though this time I can at least say it was quasi-purposeful. After all, I did leave you on a cliffhanger. I can't promise the next chapter will come any quicker, but it is my hope to have it out by next weekend. No promises though.

Not much else to say. This chapter deals mostly with originals, but have no fear. We'll be back on familiar ground in the next chapter.

Please read and review. I love hearing from you!

-sor

* * *

While Zaibach was not a city without sunlight, one might easily assume as much by the perpetual darkness favored by Aldon and his aging eyes. Perhaps it was some poor attempt at symbolism to maintain such an air of darkness and despair within the Madoushi Tower. Whatever the reason, it was merely another fault added haphazardly to Corbett's growing list of grievances. The Madoushi ranks were no longer comprised of bitter old men; fools who could not survive the wars. With the expansion of their ranks came an influx of youthful energy and passion, all but foreign to those who had served in Dornkirk's age.

One of these youths was a boy of nineteen by the name of Laurent who had escaped military service during the civil war by enlisting with the Tower just after his eighteen's birthday. The boy had taken an immediate liking to the Madoushi's military contact, a man who had studied closely for years at the side of the former Strategos Folken; a man none other than Corbett himself. Knowing a worthwhile asset when he saw one, Corbett was all too happy to provide discrete and private training in return for the boy's services. Specifically, his access to the archival shelves, which he had been appointed to maintain. In the end, though, it proved largely fruitless, as Aldon's most private files remained painfully out of reach.

"You do realize sending him in there could bring about his execution." Emil maintained his collected pace at Corbett's side, despite the level of agitation in his words. "Is this information really worth more than this boy's life?"

"Knowledge is the key to all doors, Emil. This continued ignorance makes slaves of us all," Corbett replied as calmly as if he'd been asked nothing more than the time.

Those words, heard countless times, brought forth a fresh bout of annoyance in the shorter Madoushi. "Yes, yes. As Folken always said. And we all see how he met his end; a slaughtered traitor."

"A traitor to Dornkirk's insanity, perhaps, but not to Zaibach herself." They were words Corbett had said many times in some vain attempt to defend his mentor's honor, but even now those words sounded hollow. This was the man, after all, who had betrayed Zaibach to the alliance, divulging a multitude of military secrets. This was the man who had murdered Dornkirk and plunged Zaibach into two years of brutal civil war. And what some would call the worst offense, Folken was a monster.

It was a thing Corbett had wished he'd known sooner. How amazing it must have been to be tied so tightly to fate, a bond forged in ancient blood. But he had only found out when he came upon his idol, unmoving in a pool of blood and black feathers.

The Ryujinbito. The only ones among them with any right to alter fate. Man was not meant to do such things through any means other than his own hard work. And it was through hard work that Corbett meant to change Zaibach's fate once more, just as Folken had. He meant to bring about an end to the conflicts and bind the nation together to a common goal. Not to change the face of the world or to conquer through military strength, but to live. What man needed anything more than to live?

"Half the country labels the other half traitors, Corbett. Defending a dead man is the last thing you should worry about." Emil hung his head, breathing out a soft sigh. He was always the type to avoid confrontation and so Corbett allowed it, saying nothing more of Folken. There was nothing to say, in any case. Emil had no need to know that it was Folken's dream as well as his own that he fought to realize.

"You're right, as always, my friend." Corbett executed a quick, polite bow to his colleague before turning down the hallway that led to his private lab.

Emil knew instinctively that he was not meant to follow. "I'll see to a few of the boys in the library. Extra help with their lessons could never hurt." And with a curt bow of his own, the older man shuffled off down the hallway.

Corbett watched for a moment, a faint smirk on his face. Help with their lessons was hardly the reason Emil went to tend to the boys. Certainly he would spend hours pouring over texts with them and explaining the principles, but really he moved to secure loyalties. The boys remembered which men showed their faces about the tower and seemed to have genuine interest in their advancement.

There were only a handful of students in the tower who had ever actually seen Aldon's face. Such a thing was all the better for Corbett. Let the boys come to respect him and his allies while they poked fun at the old man upstairs. That had been Folken's biggest mistake. He had shunned the Tower and they had shunned him in return, leaving him without the support of those who would in the end back his experiments. Only Corbett had been truly loyal.

xxxxx

_The last time Corbett had seen Strategos Folken alive was some time before the destruction of Fanelia. He had returned with the Vione to Zaibach to take on new soldiers and supplies. The Tower had been aware of his return for some time, but the old fools made no effort to greet him. They stayed locked away in their laboratories and sent no one to greet him, as was customary. Still, Corbett needed no orders to meet Folken at the base of the tower when his carriage arrived from the military complex._

_They walked in silence, which seemed all too appropriate for the nearly deserted halls. The Madoushi ranks had been dwindling for some time and it was not unusual to walk the length of the tower several times without meeting another soul. Still, it was always safe to speak only where privacy was assured. The old men had ears everywhere._

_Once safe behind doors, Folken finally spoke. "I trust you were able to procure the supplies I requested."_

_Corbett offered a nod in response, gesturing to the great oak cabinet that rested against the far wall. The room had once been Folken's lab and the Strategos knew every inch of it, but upon his promotion, he had left the room and all its secrets in Corbett's hands. The shelves contained volumes of research, some older than Corbett himself; research begun by the very first Madoushi and taken up years later by Folken. It was a collection unrivaled in all of Zaibach, or so Corbett had come to believe. _

_The text varied greatly from simple mechanics to ancient history, though throughout the many histories Folken had collected there ran a single, common threat. Atlantis. Other men would have called the volumes stories or legends, but Folken called them histories. He poured through them day and night only to toss them aside in frustration, leaving Corbett the task of lovingly gathering the volumes and placing them back upon the shelves where Folken would find them the next day only to cast them aside once more._

_There were other histories as well; oddities among the fairy tales of Atlantis, the oddest of which was a careworn genealogy of the Fanelian kings. He had searched that book nearly as often as all the rest and when Corbett had finally gathered the courage to ask what it was he searched for in such a book, Folken merely responded with his usual ambiguity. _

"_Answers."_

_It was to this volume Folken went to, drawing it down from the shelf with care. He stood silently for a moment, peering at the worn leather cover, fraying just slightly at the edges, but not from lack of care. _

_He crossed the room to a pair of equally worn arm chairs. Corbett had offered to have them replaced many times, but Folken had been stubborn. They were comfortable, he said. Far be it for Corbett to argue with such logic._

_Once he had settled himself into the chair, he opened the volume with the same careful ease as ever, using only his left hand. Other books, he would handle in his right, but not this one. Yet another oddity Corbett had noted and yet been unable to comprehend._

"_In a week's time, the Fanelian prince will set out for the Rite of Dragonslaying." The words caught Corbett off guard, but he was used to Folken's quirks. The man could be silent for hours, only to speak as if stepping into a conversation mid-stream. "He will leave the safety of his palace and strike out on his own into the wilderness with nothing more than a sword. A sword and armor against a dragon." _

_Corbett inched closer, sliding into the other arm chair. "That does sound rather ridiculous..." _

_Seemingly oblivious to the younger man's confusion, Folken continued, thumbing slowly through the pages, but not seeing the text. "If he manages to slay a dragon, he will return to Fanelia with the energist as proof." Another page turned. "This energist will be used to power what was once the key to Fanelian power. The great melef, Escaflowne."_

_Another page turned, even more slowly. "Escaflowne is the most dangerous variable. In all our calculations, the dragon interferes. If Escaflowne awakens, Zaibach will be forced to take hold of this variable where it can be managed according to our design." _

_The turning of the pages stilled as Folken reached the end of the book, where the most recent line of Fanelian kings was listed. "But if the prince fails to slay the dragon and return with its energist, Escaflowne will remain dormant and we can move forward with our plans unobstructed." His hand came to rest lightly over the page. "Fanelia will be preserved and will remain uninvolved in the conflict to come."_

"_But if he succeeds..." Folken's hand curled into a fist. The paper beneath his hand crumpled slowly and finally tore. "Fanelia will be wiped from the face of Gaea."_

_He seemed at first not to realize that he had torn free the final page, and he seemed almost sad when he opened his fist and looked upon the torn page. When he finally spoke again, his tone was soft. Corbett might have called it mournful had it not been for the steely cold in Folken's eyes. "Violence begets violence, Corbett. Fate will not let us succeed so long as we continue to dirty ourselves with such useless killing._

"_So long as gentle souls are forced to fight, there will be no peace; no end to war. Even we cannot hope to change this legacy of violence if mankind has no desire to abandon their desire for blood."_

_Folken set the book aside, leaving the crumpled page sitting atop the worn leather cover. His mind was lost once more in that place only he knew of. Corbett had often wondered what thoughts plagued Strategos Folken when his eyes became distant, but the man refused even the most innocent of questions. Some things were better left unsaid, he claimed. Still, Corbett tried once more to delve into the mystery that was Strategos Folken._

"_You want the Fanelian prince to fail? But wouldn't that mean he'd die?"_

_Folken hesitated a moment, his back turned fully, face shrouded behind the high collar of his cloak. When he spoke, his tone was measured and forced and while Corbett could not even begin to say what it was he hid, it was clear to see that something was buried there. "If he succeeds, it will mean the death of his gentle heart. In either case, Van Fanel will not survive the Rite of Dragonslaying."_

xxxxx

Van Fanel. The dark, brooding youth who had avoided formality as one might avoid the plague. Corbett remembered the boy very well. He resembled Folken, not only in the eyes, but in manner as well. So many small things. The way he cut his meat at supper; the way he observed with that same steely silence. Though Van's silence had been tempered with uncertainty.

Come to think of it, that was very much like Folken, too.

Had Corbett known then what he knew now, Folken might not have been such a mystery. But he understood now, the Strategos' determination to bring about a world without fighting; a world for all the gentle souls like Van Fanel. Like Laurent, who had fled the wars to take up the life of a hermit within the tower. Like all the other boys who had fled death and destruction and hidden themselves behind a black cloak.

To bring about a world without war. It was an immense burden Corbett had placed upon himself. But unlike Folken; unlike Dornkirk and all the other fools who had torn their country to shreds, he understood. Their methods were wrong. Machines and weapons were not the way to bring about such a world.

All one needed for peace was a sharp mind and a talent for politics.

A faint smirk colored Corbett's features as he approached his lab, but faded quickly when he saw who waited outside his door.

The figure lurked in the shadows, his back pressed into the corner in the hopes of avoiding notice, but Corbett spotted him with little difficulty. The boy was slight, what some might call scrawny or delicate, fair and prone to shatter easily. For that reason alone, Corbett was able to identify him without a moment's hesitation. Daien; Aldon's silent little lap dog.

"If Aldon wishes to see me, you can tell the old buzzard you were unable to find me. I have no desire to speak to him today." Or any other day, Corbett thought with amusement.

Daien shook his head firmly, though Corbett wasn't entirely sure what was meant by it. He'd not spent enough time around the boy to learn to efficiently communicate with him, nor did he wish to. However, Daien moved quickly towards him and it was only then that Corbett noted his arms laden with bound volumes; research journals by the look of them. These journals he shoved awkwardly into Corbett's arms while nodding eagerly that he should accept them.

Despite his seemingly innocent nature, Corbett had no trust in Daien, but still he took the offered volumes. After all, knowledge was power, even if obtained through shady means. And if it were a trap? He had no worries of that. With most of the tower at his back, Aldon knew better than to attempt entrapment and were he foolish enough to do so, he would find himself very quickly out of a job. Though he may not have realized yet, Aldon only retained his position because Corbett had not yet decided to strike.

Daien's smile brightened when his offering was accepted and with his newly freed hands, he delved into the pocket of his jacket, producing a piece of parchment on which was written in overly neat script. _He who seeks knowledge need only ask and he shall receive._

For an instant, Corbett was unsure if he were more pleased or angered. What a presumptuous thing for the brat to do! "Who wrote this? You? Aldon?"

The servant shook his head slowly, a secretive smile appearing in place of his larger grin. Then after a moment of heavy silence, he lifted a hand and extended one slender finger upwards, pointing towards the upper floors... or perhaps even beyond. Feeling a fool for doing so, Corbett's gaze shifted for a moment to the ceiling as if he half expected to find this mysterious benefactor seated among the rafters.

"Look, I don't know what you're..." His words trailed off as he glanced back to the hallway only to find Daien had already taken his leave just as silently as he had come. With a heavy sigh, Corbett glanced down at the volumes in his arms and then back down the hallway where the boy had disappeared.

"I suppose now that there's no returning them, I might as well read."


	14. Part 2 Chapter 2

I don't have much to say this time. Just the usual encouragement to read and review. Feedback is my inspiration to write more!

thanks and enjoy

-sor

* * *

"Riot?" Dryden turned away from his desk to face the grizzled face of the captain of one of his most prominent seagoing vessels. The man's ship had come into port in Palas that morning at full sail and the captain had insisted upon an immediate audience with Dryden Fassa and would settle for no less.

"Yes, sir." The man was obviously nervous as he continued to wring his hands and squirm quite unprofessionally. "We were just off the coast preparing to dock when the city went up in smoke. We could hear the shouts from the docks and from what we could tell, it looked like a revolt. The Basrami that come in from the interior were armed to the teeth and slaughtering the Asturian merchant fleets and soldiers. We turned back out to sea and made haste to Palas to inform His Majesty."

The merchant probably hadn't expected Dryden's first reaction to be a muttered string of curses. No wonder he had heard no response from Allen. He rose slowly, pacing towards his window to peer down at the courtyards below and beyond to the harbors, one fist clenched at his side. "Your haste is much appreciated, Gorman. Go back to the ship and see to your cargo."

Once his captain had fled, Dryden was left alone to determine the best course of action, of which there seemed to be none. A riot had to be put down and if the Basrami had taken the city, it was imperative that they retake it before the rebels could get too comfortable. But what of the garrisons there? The melef units? Allen Schezar and his crew? He'd had no word.

Not even a month of official power and already Asturia was falling prey to the ambitions of other nations. Either it was merely an unfortunate coincidence or other nations thought him a weak ruler. As much as he detested war, he hated even more the thought of other nations attempting to take advantage of his country and his laid back attitude. He was generous. He was intelligent. He could very easily solve the trade disputes between Asturia and her neighbors. What he couldn't do, though, was solve these problems while fighting a war.

This would not turn into a war if he had anything to do with it.

Sadly, it was looking more and more like he did not.

He hadn't had long to think when the study doors opened again to admit Millerna, looking slightly frantic. The doors remained opened wide behind her as she padded quickly to his side, taking hold of his arm in her distress. "Dryden, what happened at Zandira?"

News traveled fast, it had seemed, and for a moment Dryden could only focus on the blue of the water where it met the horizon. The sea was always dotted with ships, but today it seemed less so. Perhaps it was only his imagination, his reaction to the disaster at Zandira, his paranoia that so many innocent merchants had perished along with the rest. Men under his employ send to Zandira on his orders. Men like Allen, sent into clear danger on his orders. How many lives was he responsible for ending with just a few thoughtless words?

Seeming to sense his thoughts, Millerna laid a hand gently against his cheek, turning his weary face from the window to face her own worried eyes. For a moment, Dryden imagined the worry was for him, but it couldn't have been. She was fearful for Allen, nothing more. So he offered a reassuring smile, taking her hand from his cheek and placing a gentle kiss upon it. "Just a moment, my dear."

As much as it pained him, he stepped away from his wife, who in that instant of panic had clung to him like he'd always dreamed she might, turning to him in her distress. It was a pleasant dream, but not a reality. So giving her hand a final pat, he stepped away to push the door to and keep their conversation away from the prying ears of the palace. The news should not be allowed to spread faster than it already had.

As he made his way back to her side, he began in tentative tones. "There was an unexpected rebellion. The only word out of Zandira has come on one of my ships who managed to avoid the tangle and make it safely out to sea. I have no word yet from any Asturian stationed there. No word at all from Allen."

He easily saw the fear in her eyes, which were already brimming with tears. She feared for Allen and he could not begrudge her that. So instead of speaking to the point, Dryden simply enveloped his wife in his strong embrace, letting her press her teary eyes against his shoulder and at least seek some form of comfort in him. No one could go on in such a situation with no human contact. Even Dryden found himself clinging to her for a moment, his head pressing gently into strands of blonde silk.

She smelled lovely. Like fresh lavender mixed with clean, wild air. She smelled like the fields and the sea and everything else that was a part of Asturia. Dryden's green eyes closed for a moment, losing himself in her and all her comforts, not only of the physical sense, but in the sense that he could provide for her some form of comfort himself. It was purely selfish to enjoy such things, but all men were allowed their moments of weakness.

The couple stood for a time locking one another embrace, but it wasn't long before Millerna realized who she clung to and just how adoringly he returned her attentions, but rather than pull free, she voiced only a feeble protest, muffled against his shoulder. "Dryden ."

He understood. The embrace lasted one selfish moment longer before the king withdrew and turned back to his desk where he'd left mounds of work unfinished. Now, piled on top of his already busy schedule, he was faced with Zandira and what to do about a group of rebels who may or may not be connected to something larger than a dispute over a trading port. "I'll find out exactly what happened. Don't you worry about a thing. It would take more than a few hundred rioters to kill Allen Schezar."

xxxx

True to his word, Dryden called an emergency session with his advisors and ministers, discussing at great length all the ramifications of a revolt of this nature. It was not only a matter of trade, but one of Asturian sovereignty. If such an act were to go unavenged, other countries would rise up against Asturia's borders in an attempt to take back the coast. A war on one front was a difficult matter. A war on multiple fronts was unthinkable. Even with the aid of Fanelia and Freid on their western and southern borders, it still left a great expanse of Asturian land ripe for the taking.

As was his style, Dryden sat silently, listening to the pompous men of government, men appointed mostly out of familial alliances by the former king Aston, as they argued on and on over every last ill result that could come from taking or not taking military action.

"If we let Basram get away with this, the rest of the world will think us weakཀ We must answer this as quickly as possible."

"If the port is not retaken, Asturian trade routes will be severely diminished and we will lose our path to the interior of the continent."

"If Basram is allowed to win over our ports, they will come for our homes nextཀ"

"No, they will turn to their own borders and attack Freid. They are expansionists, nothing more. Let Freid deal with the problem themselves."

"And neglect our alliance? What fools would we be to throw away a blood ally to the throneཀ"

"Better Freid than us!"

"You fool, we have a treaty to uphold with Freidཀ We must act."

Dryden listened to the bickering for as long as was necessary to give the impression that he had honestly considered their ideas. That was all bureaucrats needed: the illusion of power. They would be satisfied with that. Slowly he stood, glancing over each face at the table. "Word will be sent to our allies informing them of our dilemma. If they offer aid, it will be their choice. I will not demand it for what may turn out to be nothing more than a minor disruption

"Notice will be sent and I will see to it myself." As far as he was concerned, the matter was closed right along with this little meeting he'd called just for show. To make decisions without the show was bad for the stability of one's rule, especially a rule that was as new and tentative as his own. Those bureaucrat bastards were just waiting for the first opportunity to declare him unfit.

Dryden dismissed them with a tense wave of his hand, a gesture that could be just as easily attributed to the stress of recent events as it could be to the annoyance caused by his advisors. He would leave them to wonder about its meaning as they filed slowly into the hallway. It was times like this he wished his father hadn't retired a few months before. He'd not always enjoyed the man's company, nor the pressure that came with his father's presence in the palace, but Meidan had always been at least one voice in his favor. He was lacking such at the moment.

When the door closed behind the last of them, Dryden sank back into his chair, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to battle the oncoming headache. He barely noticed the sound of one of the small rear doors opening, followed by the delicate footsteps of a woman. "You've been listening in, eh?" He couldn't help but grin as he cast a glance over his shoulder at his wife, who looked much like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

She recovered surprisingly quickly though and moved to the table, taking up one of the abandoned chairs at his side and sitting, hands folded prettily on the table in front of her. "You should at least act like you care what they say. They love Asturia just as much as you do."

Her words were met with a soft laugh from her husband, though it was simply amusement at the realization that she seemed to be on the same page as he. "I held this session, didn't I? If I had really wanted to ignore them, I wouldn't have bothered and saved myself a wasted hour."

"Yes, but the way you speak to them. You'd think a merchant would know a little more about diplomacy." Millerna sighed with a shake of her head, pushing her chair away from the table and stalking around behind Dryden . She took a firm hold of his shoulders and forced his back against the chair. "Try sitting up, for one thing. All this slouching makes you look weak."

"Slouching?" The king's voice was both amused and faintly insulted, though much of the insult was merely a put-on. It was part of his nature to tease and he expected her to at least know that. "I'll have you know, I never slouch." It was a shame that his pseudo-indignity was ruined by a bit of laughter.

Millerna responded with a light slap to his shoulder, though it was obvious in her eyes that she wanted to laugh along with him. "I'm being serious, Drydenཀ Now that father's dead, they won't be afraid to challenge you anymore. If you're not careful, they'll be plotting behind your back even more than usual."

Dryden rested his elbows on the table and bowed his head to rest his chin on clasped hands. Stray tendrils of dark hair fell down over his face, half hiding his rather pleased grin. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were beginning to see my worth."

His bowed posture allowed the queen to more easily hide the color that rose in her cheeks, though she just as easily gave herself away with the slight stammer in her reply. "I never said you weren't a good king, I just think... Well, I think you should act like it sometimes." Inspired now by having him somewhat trapped, she continued, taking a few steps away from the table to gaze out the window at the city below.

"For one, you hide away too much. You want to promote the illusion that we're happily married, yet you avoid me like the plague. You leave me to handle public ceremony. You lock yourself away in your study whenever you can with your books and ledgers and... well perhaps you could do that before, but you can't anymore. The people need to see you, especially now. They will be worried and afraid and you can't hide from them."

She turned towards him again, releasing a little huff of frustration. "Sunlight won't kill you, you know." By this time, Dryden had shifted half out of his chair, green eyes following her with more than a hint of amusement as she rounded on him again, closing the distance between them. "Neither will dressing properly! You should at least try to look like a king." Delicate fingers dipped down to pluck the spectacles from his nose. "You really do look nice when you make an effort."

Before she could withdraw her hand, Dryden caught it in his own, carefully pulling it back to him so he could place a tender kiss upon it. "You think I look nice? Ah, I knew you'd come around."

This time he did catch the color in her cheeks and his grin only broadened, causing her to pull her hand sharply away. "I'm being serious, Dryden!"

"So am I."

"You infuriating manཀ" She let his glasses fall to the table as she turned away in a huff, sighing dramatically. "Can't you take anything seriously?"

Finally, his expression shifted as he rose, taking up his glasses and replacing them on his nose as an afterthought. Slow steps brought him across the floor where he stopped close enough behind her that his chest nearly touched her shoulders. "I take these things very seriously, Millerna. Ruling Asturia is not a game to me and I intend to see our country flourish. You know me well enough by now to at least know what is in my heart."

He stepped forward, but rather than bringing himself against her, he stepped to the right, coming to a stop at her side, standing shoulder to shoulder with eyes cast forward. "I am not a man to bow to the wishes of others, be it something so insignificant as dress or something monumental as war." In a moderately swift motion, his hand moved to brush against hers, lacing his fingers between hers before lifting her hand to clasp it softly between both of his. "Or in matters of the heart."

She shifted slightly, as if wishing to draw her hand away. "Dryden."

"I would do anything for you, though. So if you want me to impress them, I'll do whatever you say. I haven't kept my word to you. I haven't become the man you deserve, have I? Tell me how."

She stared at him in surprise, blue eyes wide as saucers. No words came, but she shrunk back from him, and then subsequently drew near again. Her lips parted to speak, but no sound came. No sound from her. Only from the large double doors that led into the palace corridors as they were flung open with a resounding thud.

The young soldier at the door colored brightly, snapping to an over-formal attention when he found he'd interrupted the king and queen. Still, he'd come on urgent business.

"Your Majestiesཀ Our scouts report the Crusade has been sighted. They're coming in to landཀ"


	15. Part 2 Chapter 3

Finally another update! Things have been busy as usual and I appologize for always taking so long.

Things are finally beginning to get a bit more exciting, though I'm afraid this chapter might be a little slow for some tastes. But I promise the next one will have more excitement along with the return of characters that have not appeared for some time (if at all). Plus there will be yet another new character to meet. So I hope everyone enjoys this chapter and returns again when I'm able to update next.

Please, please, please review. I love to hear from you all, especially if there is any way I can improve my writing.

And on a side note, at the moment there are no plans for Hitomi to return to Gaea. That's not to say she won't appear at all in the fic, but I have no plans to make her a part of this story or reunite her with Van. My apologies to the VanHitomi fans (which I, myself am, as well) but there was really no way to bring Hitomi back that wouldn't interfere with the story too drastically. But there are always flashbacks! If Folken can make his way into the story, Hitomi can as well.

Everyone read and enjoy! Thanks.

-sor

* * *

There was already a welcome party assembled by the time the Crusade limped its way over the horizon. The ship was intact, but barely able to maintain its course. One sail sported a series of negligible rips and tears and the opposite propeller seemed only to turn sporadically every few seconds or so. It was a wonder the ship had made its way to Palas at all without ending its rocky trip somewhere in the middle of the sea.

Space had been promptly cleared on the nearest landing pad, allowing the crippled ship a quick and steady berth. The shouts of men accompanied the landing as workers hurried to bring the ship down, not trusting the Crusade to make the landing on her own. It was fortunate that they had been there, for the ship seemed to totter more than once before finding its balance and finally coming to rest.

From where he stood, a safe distance from the commotion, Dryden could only frown at the condition of the airship. That crew was probably the most talented he'd ever had the privilege to meet, so for them to return home so badly damaged, the situation in Zandira must have been much worse than he had initially anticipated.

The small airship stood silently for what seemed like a series of short eternities, but finally a flicker of motion indicated the preparations for the crew's disembarkment. At his side, he caught the soft whisper from Millerna, who thought the word had gone unheard. Or perhaps she had simply forgotten he was there.

"Allen."

Allen, Allen, Allen. The king scowled for a moment before schooling his face into a more neutral expression. When the man came off of that ship, he would hardly give him time for a reunion with Millerna. There were more serious matters to discuss and they would conveniently prevent the usually social pleasantries. Millerna could hardly find fault in him for that.

However, be it curse or blessing, it was not Allen Schezar who stepped out of the Crusade, but a ragtag gathering of the ship's usual crew plus half a dozen Zandiran mercenaries. At the head of the group came Gaddes, attempting to organize the men into some bastardization of a military formation, but after a few noble attempts, he gave up on the fools and approached Dryden and his party. He attempted a sloppy salute; sloppy only because the man looked exceedingly weary and wore a makeshift bandage over his forehead, stained with dried blood.

He stood for a moment, eyes somewhat unfocused, before his legs gave out and left him sprawled on the stone, fresh blood beginning to seep into the already filthy bandage.

xxxxx

"The Sarge held 'em off at the door while we prepped. They came pouring down from the front doors like a damn swarm of rats." Teo leaned back against the wall just beside the main doors to the medical ward, which had become suddenly crowded with the remnants of the Zandira garrison and the crew of the Crusade. The dark man looked increasingly unhappy as the moments ticked by, refusing to have his minor wounds treated until the others were seen to. "He took that nasty blow trying to close the doors on 'em."

There were very few who had reached the safety of the Crusade that came through unscathed. A good many were superficial injuries, but they had dragged a few of the more critically injured men out of the hallways while they'd had the time, bringing them back to Palas to be treated and saving them from certain death at the hands of the mob. Dryden looked over the scene with a dark frown. Was this really all that was left of the garrison? He had dared entertain the hope that Allen and the men had held out and driven the riots back, but even in his worst expectations, he hadn't imagined such total destruction. Perhaps he'd been foolish to have Allen hold back for so long. He'd left the men ill prepared and now how many were dead based on his lack of judgment?

"Were there no signs this was coming?" His question was directed at Teo, one of the few men who remained uninjured, but it was answered by a rather grumpy Gaddes, who had finally lost his patience with the nurse attempting to tend a small scratch on his arm.

The Sergeant's head wound had been cleaned, treated, rewrapped and deemed non-fatal, though he'd been ordered in no uncertain terms to rest and recover the strength lost on the haphazard flight into Palas. He sat now, perched on the edge of the medical cot, waving the girl at his side away with a short, clipped, "Leave it." He then turned his gaze towards Teo and Dryden where they stood at the door. "There were a few brawls in the morning, but nothing out of the ordinary. Men drunk and fighting over cards. There was never an indication of something so huge."

Dryden left the doorway and crossed to Gaddes' bedside, scowling down at the mercenary, though he hardly meant to. "Nothing at all? Usually riots like this build up from escalating tensions. There was no increase in violence in the days and weeks prior?"

Gaddes seemed a bit insulted that his word had been questioned, but he maintained a reasonable tone as he looked up, fixing Dryden with his own displeased expression. "There was no increase in violence. Only the same things we've been seeing for the past three months. But I'll tell you one thing, sir. Those men were pretty well prepared for an unplanned riot, if you catch my meaning. They were fighting like soldiers with swords and moving in units and columns, shouting orders. I've never seen a population of boatsmen and merchants fight like a band of trained soldiers before."

His expression did not change, but the report hit Dryden like a lead weight. "Like soldiers?" A riot, he could deal with, but this had begun to sound more like a revolution. Or an attack. He remained silent for a moment, working through the information in his mind before finally venturing the question that they had all been itching to ask. "What of Allen?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Millerna flinch slightly where she stood tending to one of the more critically injured mercenaries, though she did an admirable job of maintaining her composure and masking her attentions.

Gaddes had flinched as well, though it was more noticeable on his fatigued body. "I don't know. We tried to wait for him, but we couldn't hold off those bastards any longer. If we'd lifted off even a moment later, we might not have gotten out at all." The wounded Sergeant scowled, one fist clenching in the sheets beneath him. "We had to leave Reeden and Kio behind, too."

Silence stretched heavily over the room for a few moments as the heavy weight of their obvious burden settled upon the group. Finally, though, Dryden broke the silence with his soft, measured tones, calm despite the sense of uncertainty in the air. "If nothing else, Zandira must be retaken. To allow Basram to act so boldly against us will only send a message to the rest of the world that our ports are ripe for the taking.

"I'll make out orders to send the army down the coast. There's a small port just north of Zandira. A trading port not frequented often, mostly only by local merchants who don't venture far from home. It's insignificant as far as ports go. A small target and the place to land our armies."

He finally ventured a glance to Gaddes. "But I have another assignment for you, if you're not opposed to coming late to the front lines."

xxxxx

Repairs to the Crusade had been put at the top of the military priority list and after a few days and nights of near constant labor, the ship was deemed operational. On the third day since its arrival in Palas, the small airship was manned once more with a larger crew, complete with a field medic and a duo of young knights.

Gaddes had retained his command of the crew, refusing to remain behind in the care of the palace doctors. Not only had he insisted upon not being separated from his men, he also refused to abandon Allen Schezar, be he dead or alive. Eventually Dryden had reasoned it more troublesome to argue with the mercenary and had allowed it, but only on the condition that Gaddes follow every order given by the medic.

One of those orders had been rest, but the Sergeant had already opted to ignore it, even before the Crusade had left Palas. He stood in the middle of the landing pad, directing the loading of provisions into the ship's hold, and along with that the loading of a pair of melefs belonging to the knights he'd very reluctantly agreed to bring along.

Not far away, also observing the goings on was one of the boys, a stern looking youth with an arrogant way about him. It wasn't an unusual combination in a knight, but there was still something about the boy that rubbed Gaddes the wrong way. The superiority complex he was used to, but there was more to it with that one. Baedan Trevelian looked at the men as if he'd like nothing better than to run them through with his blade. Still, he'd been assured by a number of individuals that there was no more talented swordsman in the ranks of the Knights of Caeli, other than Allen Schezar, of course, nor one more skilled in melef combat.

"He's been on edge ever since Zaibach left."

The soft voice at his side startled the mercenary out of his thoughts and he turned a bit too sharply to greet the girl at his side, causing an unsettling bout of dizziness. "Ah, Celena. Come to see us off?"

"You could say that," she responded, her eyes still focused on the brooding form of Baedan Trevelian. There was something foreign in her expression that Gaddes could not quite read; an intensity not entirely unfamiliar to that of a bird of prey.

He'd heard through the queen that Celena had been often seen in the presence of the young knight and while few specifics had leaked into the palace rumor mill, it was widely speculated that the two were more than friends. Celena had vehemently denied it, though, and Gaddes knew for a fact she had never once mentioned Trevelian in any of her letters to Allen. But from the way she looked at the boy now, not like a lover, but more like a beloved dog who'd failed to sit on command, Gaddes was inclined to believe there was something other than romance between the two.

"Keep an eye on him, Gaddes." Only now did Gaddes note that the girl's tone seemed to contain a certain cold surety, a tone only heard in men like Allen with a commander's presence. To hear such coming from this petite girl certainly caught the Sergeant's attention. "He's a brilliant soldier, but his loyalties have wavered as of late. I doubt he'll take kindly to working under your command." Her gaze seemed far away for a moment and it sounded almost as if her mind had wandered from the landing pad to places far distant from Palas. "But he's always been headstrong." Only then did the faintest hints of affection make themselves known.

"But he never promised to bring onii-sama back, so I making you promise, Gaddes."

Gaddes' expression warmed momentarily and he placed a hand on the girl's small shoulder. "Of course I'll bring the boss back. He'll probably be waiting there for us with the entire city wrapped around his little finger." The mercenary tried very hard to sound certain, but even he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Allen. Even a man like him couldn't stand against such an uprising.

"Probably." The reply seemed distracted, though, and for a moment Gaddes wasn't certain she had even heard him. A moment later, she reached up to give his hand a gentle pat, then slid out from under it with the grace of a doe. As she approached Baedan, the knight turned to greet her with the barest hint of a smile before turning his attention back to the loading of the guymelefs.

xxxxx

The Crusade had set a course to the northwest nearly an hour before and all was going smoothly, especially given the condition the ship had been in not two days before. As per doctor's orders, Gaddes had dragged a chair up from the lounge onto the bridge, where he sat half slouched against the back, watching the mountains that stretched out before them. The bridge was nearly deserted and other than Teo at the wheel, the room was blessedly empty. Despite the company of the other man, they had avoided conversation for the better part of the hour, leaving a heavy, but not unwelcome silence.

However, with silence, came thoughtfulness and for the most part, Gaddes found himself dwelling unhappily on the events they had fled in Zandira. More specifically, he could not help but wonder what had become of the rest of the crew. And Allen. Had he been given his way, Gaddes would have gladly remained behind, but the boss had been counting on him to bring word to Palas.

Still, Gaddes had expected to be en route once more to Zandira, not headed in the completely opposite direction. This cruel detour left the Sergeant feeling restless, shifting every so often in his chair. In fact, he moved so often that he caught more than once, Teo casting concerned looks over his slender shoulder. If nothing else, that helped to still him. He had to at least pretend to have confidence in their orders. They would come to the battle soon enough and hopefully much better equipped to deal with the Basrami than they might have been otherwise. Still, it was absolutely infuriating to be forced to wait.

"How long now?"

Teo glanced again over his shoulder, a few wrinkles forming in his forehead as if he couldn't decide between laughter or annoyance. Eventually he turned forward again, leaning casually against the wheel. Piloting the Crusade did not require the constant attention of some larger ships, but merely one hand on the wheel in the event something unexpected popped up. It allowed Teo the opportunity to take a shot at Gaddes worry. "Ten minutes less than when you asked before. Gonna have to get you a damn helmet if some little bump on the head is gonna make you that forgetful."

Realizing his attempted humor had fallen flat, the dark skinned man cleared his throat quickly. "We should be crossing the border any time now, which means we'll be over Castelo before long." Despite Teo's posture, a slouch which left his head bent half over the wheel in a casual attempt to hide his expression, Gaddes still managed to catch what might have been a bare hint of a grin. "Should I call down to tell Ort just in case he wants to take a shit over the railing?"

Gaddes made a valiant effort to maintain some form of serious expression, but in the end his own smirk had to be covered by a well placed right hand. Out of the lot of them, Ort had been fond of their little border fortress and had been exceedingly unhappy to learn that after the war they would not be resuming their posting. A few words from the Queen had kept Allen occupied in Palas and he'd managed to avoid any of those pleasant, isolated postings that certain members of the crew had begun to enjoy. Some men, Gaddes found, weren't meant for cities. Especially, in Ort's case, cities full of well dressed aristocrats with a tendency to look down their noses at those of common birth and appearance.

In fact, it was just such an aristocrat that commanded Castelo now. Calling the man ancient was an understatement, but his family's line was even more ancient and it had been one of King Aston's final acts to grant the man this assignment. No sooner had he moved his pompous ass into the fortress, he'd dismissed nearly the entire compliment of mercenary soldiers, claiming no desire to waste provisions on men who served their own pockets before Asturia. Gaddes did not blame his men in the least for feeling distaste for the man. The cold and arrogant were given the cushy jobs while real men like Allen Schezar were thrown to the lions.

"If I weren't afraid I'd topple over the railing, I'd join him in shitting." They were words he shouldn't have said; not from his position. He was the commander of this crew, however well he might know them, and it wasn't proper to express distaste in the workings of Asturian military politics, especially with those knights running around. They were half as likely to call him a traitor as scold him for his crudeness.

Allen would have smiled.

At least Teo found it amusing, though he managed to school his reaction to a soft chuckle. "If you're really that interested, I'll make sure you don't-"

His words were interrupted by a slightly muffled voice, filtered through the tube that connected the bridge to the engine room. The voice belonged to Katz, though his usually jovial tone was replaced with one of clear irritation. "Teo, is the Sarge up there?"

"You think he'd do as he's told and leave? Course he's up here."

There was a noise that sounded almost like a snort of amusement, but it was difficult to say. "Pyle's on his way up. Said he found himself some brat kid hidden up in one of the melefs."

Gaddes cursed under his breath. This was the last thing he needed, some stowaway kid that would do nothing more than waste provisions and get in their way. It was probably some brat that belonged to one of the nobles, dreaming of war and glory and all that other bullshit the aristocrats taught their kids.

His head was just beginning to throb anew when the door opened to admit Pyle. At his side was a slender figure dressed in boys' clothes and topped off with a rather large and unfashionably floppy hat. However, the instant Gaddes got a good look at the figure, he was out of his chair and crossing the bridge with strides far to brisk for his throbbing head to handle. Still, it did not prevent him from advancing and snatching the hat unhappily from the head of their stowaway. From beneath the hat, pale hair tumbled down, falling just below shoulder length and a pair of blue eyes fixed him with a rather scolding expression.

"Gaddes, the doctor said you shouldn't go getting yourself excited like this. That's why you've dragged a chair all the way up here." Celena stepped away from Pyle, who managed to look both angry and amused by the entire situation, and took hold of Gaddes' arm, leading him back towards his chair.

For an instant he followed along, stunned by shock. However, it did not last half as long as the girl had intended. He would not allow her to take the upper hand so easily as she might have back in Palas. Right now the Crusade was his ship, and Gaddes would not have Celena Schezar ordering him about. This was one time she could not be allowed to have her way.

"What in the world are you thinking, Celena? You're supposed to be back in Palas!" He made some effort not to yell at the girl, but he could not help but wonder what manner of death her brother would choose for him when he found out.

His firm tones had no effect, though. Celena merely pat his arm lightly before giving him a gentle push into his chair. Only when he found himself seated did Gaddes realize he'd completely lost the upper hand... if he'd ever had it at all.

"It's absolutely infuriating having to wait around. They let you out of the hospital, but I'm not allowed to come along, even though I'm perfectly capable of fighting. I refuse to sit around and practice embroidery while my brother is in danger." There was a disquieting calm in the way she spoke. Her tone was by all definitions casual, yet just beneath the surface there was an unquestionable malice just waiting to bubble to the surface. It sent a chill down Gaddes' spine.

"When we reach Basram, I fully intend to fight. I can handle a sword as well as any of your men. You know it, Gaddes."

It was a point he could not argue. Whatever else he might say, he could not claim the girl possessed no skill with a sword. Luckily, he was not forced to rely on lies to quiet her. "That's all well and good, Celena, but we're not going to Basram."

Whatever coldness had taken over her fled and in a heartbeat she was once more a young girl, frightened and uncertain. Blue eyes wide, she turned quickly to the windows, peering down over the Chatal Mountains. "What...? Gaddes, where are we going?"

There was no stopping his grin this time. It blossomed fully before he could even think to put a stop to it.

"We go to wake the Dragon."


	16. Part 2 Chapter 4

Another update that took far too long to complete. I apologize again and I hope the next chapter will be out much sooner, though as usual I make no promises. Rest assured, though, I do have a plan in mind. The only problem is getting it out of my head and onto paper.

In any case, please read and enjoy. Reviews make me happy and constructive feedback makes me even happier.

Thank you for being patient.

-sor

* * *

The Fanelian palace was unlike any 'palace' Miguel had ever seen. Compared to the palace in Asturia, the place was practically an elaborate shed. Much of the building had burned in the attack two years prior, so most of the structure was a mismatch of old, undamaged walls and new constructions. Of course, there had been feeble attempts by the housekeepers to disguise these oddities using strategically placed rugs and tapestries, but it took more than a little cover to hide some of the more obvious flaws.

Yet, even without flaws, the place was primitive. Fanelia was one of those countries often passed over in history books and Miguel had learned very little of the place in his years of schooling. In fact, he'd learned more watching it burn than he ever had from any book. For instance, Fanelian homes were made almost entirely of wood rather than the stone and metal used in more civilized nations. Primitive homes for primitive people, no more than bumpkins with inflated opinions of themselves due to their convenient alliance with the more wealthy and civilized Asturia.

It hadn't taken much time to come to those conclusions, though he'd had more than enough time to ponder them, having been left to wait in the main hall with that rabble the Crusade's captain called a crew. That sorry excuse for a king, Van Fanel, had taken Gaddes into his study, barely even casting a glance at Miguel, leaving the knight to squirm impatiently in the hall, ultimately disgusted that Dryden Fassa would send him on such a pointless assignment to begin with. It might not have been quite so bad had Celena remained to wait with him, but she had weaseled her way into the study with the usual combination of wit, charm, and fierce determination.

Of course, that left him alone with nothing to do but observe the mercenaries and attempt to mask his annoyance.

One of the crew, the larger man they called Pyle, had settled himself at a small table, flanked by a pair of men whose names he'd forgotten. Pyle leaned eagerly over the table, slamming a hand down on the wooden surface with a force that seemed likely to splinter the wood, though no damage was left behind - only coins.

The man who occupied the seat opposite Pyle, a dark haired buffoon grinning broadly from behind a neatly trimmed goatee, raised the dice cup over his head, making quite the clatter as he shook the dice inside. He'd come wandering along not long ago and finding the king occupied, had decided to entertain himself with what he'd called, 'the new lot of gullible fools.' As was typical of all roughians, the Crusade's mercenaries had jumped at the challenge and Pyle had already lost quite a healthy sum to the man.

He was quite typical, as far as Fanelians went. Miguel found that most of the bumpkins were of the larger variety, broad and thick as a tree trunk, the type of men prone to brute strength rather than subtle thought. The gambler, while still quite large, was less broad than many of the soldiers he'd seen in the yard. This man was not a battering ram, but something far more subtle, able to bend to the wind rather than topple. The strength could be heard in his laughter, an uproarious belly laugh that overwhelmed all those around him whenever it thundered forth, which was quite often.

He was also, Miguel found, quite the able gambler. He'd managed to con Pyle into spending what must have been a near fortune for the mercenary with nothing more than a ready grin and a pair of mismatched, smiling eyes, one blue and the other brown.

The dice continued to clatter loudly as he leaned forward over the table. "That much? You sure you want to lose all that pretty Asturian coin?"

"Roll the dice, you damn braggart." Pyle, too, was leaning heavily over the table, anxiously watching his opponent as his friends leaned over his shoulder, making japes at his ill luck and refusing to offer loans. Only the dark-skinned Teo had the sense to maintain a distance and look somewhat ashamed of his men's behavior.

With another hearty laugh, the dice clattered to the table, followed immediately by another sharp laugh from the gambler and a collective groan of defeat from the mercenaries.

Miguel sighed, turning his face back to the window where he could at least pretend he was not surrounded by fools. The laughter continued for a moment more before coming to a sudden halt. The clatter of dice was stilled in an instant by the sound of the cup slamming down on top of them with what could only be described as a fierce thud.

Curiosity overcame him and Miguel turned only to groan unhappily. There, her hand placed firmly on the overturned dice cup was the all too familiar pink-haired cat girl that had harassed them on the landing pad. On her face was writ such ferocious irritation that it was all Miguel could do to keep from laughing. It was much like watching an angry kitten, its fur standing on end. The intention was to be frightening, but the reality was comical.

Wearing an expression of exaggerated fury, the girl pointed a claw-tipped finger at the gambler, causing him to lurch backwards, nearly topping from his chair. This seemed to amuse him, and the girl only made things worse by shaking her finger menacingly. "You know you're not supposed to be gambling! Van-sama said you had to stop doing that with guests!"

The gambler's laughter subsided a moment and he reached forward, a large hand coming to rest atop the girl's pink hair, which he mussed almost roughly. "Ah, Merle," he chuckled. "You're not going to get me in trouble, are you?"

The sound that escaped Merle's lips could only be called a growl. Angrily, she ducked away from his hand, darting back to a safer distance where she again pointed a finger scoldingly. "You're the one making trouble!" Then, crossing her arms smugly, she managed to somehow look furious and haughty all at once. "Why would I lie to Van-sama just to save someone like you?"

Amid the laughter of the pair of Fanelian guards posted at the door, the gambler climbed to his feet, holding his hands defensively before him, almost as if he were afraid the girl might launch into an all out attack. "Don't say such things, Merle! You'll have them thinking I'm some kind of scoundrel."

"You are a scoundrel, and the worst kind! It would serve you right if I..."

Merle's outrage was cut short by the resounding echo that accompanied the opening of the large double doors, admitting the Fanelian King into the hallway. Van Fanel seemed momentarily surprised at the size of the gathering, but his features relaxed instantly into a somewhat mild acceptance. At his side, Gaddes wore an expression of tense frustration, though he did his best to keep it hidden, especially from the young king, and further behind, Celena's knitted brows relaxed, replaced by a smile as transparent as glass.

Instantly, the cat girl launched forward as if propelled by a spring, throwing her arms wildly around the king. The affectionate greeting was short-lived, however, and her face instantly screwed itself into an expression of outrage. Once more that accusing finger was thrust towards the gambler. "He's doing it again, Van-sama! He's taken all of Pyle's money."

The accusation was met with a snort of laughter from Gaddes and the instant reddening of Pyle's cheeks. The gambler, however, merely shrugged good-naturedly and cast the bag of coins back to Pyle, who caught it with flustered haste. Merle only seemed to bristle further, but before she could protest, Van silenced her with a soft pat atop her head.

Releasing a low sigh and attempting to mask his obvious irritation, Van gestured slowly towards the gambler. "Gaddes, this is the man I was telling you about. May I present General Kiel Aran, my..."

"General?" Miguel could not contain his surprise, nor could he hold back the snort of laughter that threatened to escape. "This man is a general?"

He was rewarded for his comment with only a sharp glare from Van. "General Aran is the commander of Fanelia's melef units. He'll have all the information you require, Gaddes."

Gaddes responded with only a polite half-bow before stepping away from the king, looking no more pleased than he had a moment before. Kiel Aran merely grinned broadly and gestured down the main hallway. "You'll want to see our machines, no doubt. We've taken great care with the rebuilding of..." His voice faded as they moved further off down the hall, trailed somewhat inconspicuously by the ever silent Teo.

Miguel's eyes lingered for a moment on the retreating forms, still overcome with disbelief. "This is the aid he sends us to find?"

xxxxx

Despite the war and the ongoing effort not only to rebuild, but expand the great city of Fanelia, Van found there were some things that never changed. No matter how they grew or how they suffered and rebuilt, nothing ever seemed to change the trees and the mountains. Grass grew where it always had, a brilliant shade of green that seemed to exist nowhere else in the world. Trees still stood guard where they had for generations, casting their shadows over the worn paths beneath their boughs that ancient kings had once walked. And yes, despite all the destruction, great dragons still roamed the forests, keeping to themselves among the crags and canyons at the foot of the mountains.

It was among these things that were so distinctly Fanelian that the young king of Fanelia often sought his solace. He came here, among the trees and the dragons when he found himself most lost. He would speak to them on occasion, seeking their silent council, and sometimes he imagined he could hear their answer on the wind. But it was not the council of trees and dragons he sought today.

The great stone that marked the final resting place of Fanelia's kings rested among the trees, shaded by the branches of a massive sentinel tree and there was watched over by all that was Fanelian. And there among those things, keeping a vigil all its own was the Dragon itself, the great guymelef Escaflowne, silent and still where it rested upon one knee, a position of everlasting reverence. Vines had grown up around the melef's feet, creeping upward along the bent knee and now finally beginning to encroach upon its arms and chest. Had Van been given his way, the vines might have climbed higher until there was nothing left of Escaflowne and it at last had become a part of the forest, silent forever more. But Van had not been given his way.

He knelt silently before the grave of kings, his sword clutched in both hands. He came often to speak to his father or mother, sometimes even to Folken who had been laid to rest here as well, but most often he spoke to Hitomi. It was here where they had parted that Van felt closest to her. At times he even imagined she could hear him and time and again he'd been sure, if only for an instant, he'd heard her voice in the wind.

"What should I do?" Champagne colored eyes fell closed and fingers curled more tightly around the hilt of his sword. "How can I drag Fanelia into another war? We've only just begun to rebuild what we had. It had been my wish to never have to pilot Escaflowne again. That was why I never returned it to the shrine. In times of peace there is no need for an instrument of war.

"Why now?" Frustration overcame him for an instant and with a soft grunt of frustration he drove the blade of his sword into the soft earth. It did little to relieve him. "Why now that things were finally beginning to fall into place? How can I tell them they must fight again?"

A hand left his sword and slipped beneath the collar of his shirt, grasping the cool stone that hung there against his skin. He had always worn it since she had gone. It brought him comfort in times when he felt most lost. "I never wanted to fight..."

As those words escaped into the air, a sudden gust of wind rushed down from the mountains. Where it had been cool only a moment before, it had turned warm as it swept over the tiny clearing, bringing down a rush of leaves with it, littering both the ground and the guymelef in a sudden sea of color. _"Van," _it whispered. _"I believe in you."_

"Does she hear you?"

The voice startled Van out of his reverie and he turned sharply, nearly losing his balance if not for his firm grip on the sword. He didn't realize until a moment had passed that a nervous sweat had broken out on his brow, which he attempted to hide with a swipe of his arm. "What are you doing here?"

From within the shadows cast by the trees, Celena Schezar emerged, hands clasped prettily in front. One would never have assumed by her expression that she had just been eavesdropping in the rudest way possible. In fact, her smile was all innocence as she approached, eyes drifting away from Van to rest upon the vine covered melef. "There were some things I wanted to say. Gaddes doesn't need to hear everything."

She drew nearer, gaze shifting now to the headstone and the names carved upon it. As he watched her move, still wearing the men's breeches she'd worn when the Crusade had arrived, Van could not help but notice how she resembled her brother. They moved with the same grace and confidence, somehow managing to make a strut look neither arrogant nor purposeful. After a moment in which she examined the stone further, Celena dropped to a knee, head bowed. "I like it here. It's a much better resting place than that gloomy old graveyard. It's all stone in neat little rows and there's absolutely nothing human about it. But this... I think I'd like to be buried in a place like this. I think it suits your family very well."

Finally Van felt the tension melt away and he turned his eyes back to the stone as well. With a slight tug, his sword was pulled free of the earth and sheathed once more at his side, leaving him free to rise and approach the graves, though he did not kneel again as Celena had. Rather a hand rose, coming to rest upon the fading letters. _Gaou Fanel, beloved king laid to rest beneath the watchful eyes of the dragons._

"We have graveyards of our own carved beneath the mountains, protected by stone and air." Fingers curled for a moment against the cold stone. "But Fanelia is the land guarded by dragons. Her kings would rest nowhere that is not in their sight."

Celena's own small hand came to rest against the stone, just below Van's. _May his wisdom and strength remain evermore to light the way for his people. _"Your father was a brave man, was he not? Tales of his strength were recorded even in Asturian texts."

"I grew up hearing tales of my father's battles, his bravery and strength. At times he seemed more than a man." Van's eyes closed and his fist clenched tightly. "Fearless in a way I never could match. A king is born to lead, yet I can do little more than loathe my part in any battle. I cannot bring myself to have a love of war."

"Any man with a love of war would be useless on the field of battle." With all the grace of a well-bred swordsman, Celena rose, taking a few paces away from the king's stone and coming to stand before the one at its side, which bore the name of his brother, Folken. "It does not take a love of war to lead an army, Van. Actually, I think it takes just the opposite. A strong desire for peace."

Though her words made sense, they did little to ease Van's anxiety. In fact, he turned away from the stones rather violently, pacing a heated few steps away before coming to a halt, fists clenched tightly at his sides. "Yet even so, a strong desire for peace is not enough to make all men wish for battle. It is cowardice that holds them back. To have no wish to fight, even to bring about peace..." His father was no such man. Yet his heir was little more than a coward, afraid to fight and to lose, for if he lost, so much would be lost along with him.

"It is not desire that determines cowardice, it is action." Then, as if she had heard even the words he'd left unspoken, Celena moved to his side, placing a hand delicately against his arm. "Even the bravest, most honorable of men fear failure. But does that not give them all the more reason not to fail?"

For a moment the grip on his arm grew tighter, though her gaze remained somewhere far away, beyond the mountains. "Oniisan once told me of a time when he was very afraid. When he feared that selfishness and longing would deter him from duty and that he would fail himself and Asturia. But it was fear that made him vigilant and after a time he came to realize that he had nothing at all to fear." There was something strangely calm in her voice, content despite her dire situation. But all that faded in an instant and she seemed almost vulnerable. "I wonder if he is afraid now."

It was the sudden frailty in her voice that brought about a sharp jolt in Van's mind. He had no reason to worry or fear, but Celena must have been terribly afraid for her brother, no matter how well she might hide it. Realizing his mistake, he took on the role he should have from the start. "Who, Allen? I'm sure he's already won back the entire city on his own. He'll be waiting for us with that smug grin on his face and he'll ask 'Why all the fuss? Everything is in hand.'"

A subtle glance at Celena revealed a soft smile, but it faded more quickly than he would have liked. "That's exactly the type of nonsense he would want me to believe." In that moment, she spoke of her brother with an affection Van had rarely heard from her.

In a gesture that seemed all too natural, Van turned to stand before her, carefully taking her petite hands in his own in a manner he'd so often seen in the courts and gardens of Asturia. He expected to find the gesture awkward and stiff, yet the movement was fluid, as if he had done such gentlemanly things his entire life. Yet once it was done, he found himself shocked at her nearness. Had he meant to stand so close?

Or had she stepped closer as well?

Undeterred by the heat in his cheeks, Van plunged ahead with the words he'd intended. "I promise you, Celena, on my honor and my country's honor, I will see Allen safely back to Asturia."

He might have said more had their eyes not met. She gazed at him with an intensity that stopped his breath and made his heart race and in an instant all thought had abandoned him. He could only grasp the simplest of things. His palms were sweaty. What must she think of that?

"I know." She gave his hand a faint squeeze, seemingly unaware of the unseemly dampness. "There is no man on Gaea whose honor I would trust above yours." She paused. "Even my brother's," she chuckled.

Her laughter seemed to break the spell that bound him and Van found he could breathe once more. With an awkward gait, he took a step back, releasing her hands, and fighting the urge to dry his own on his tunic. His gaze shifted to Escaflowne where it sat, silently watching over the souls who rested beside it. "We should return." The words were rushed, as they always were when he made frantic excuses. "I'm sure Gaddes is eager to hear my decision."

Celena accepted his retreat with grace and asked no questions. "Then we'll return. They are probably all wondering what has become of us."


End file.
